


Heart in the Wind

by truelovetakesawhile



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Gay Keith (Voltron), Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Has Panic Attacks, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, Kidnapping, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Mute Keith (Voltron), Non-Consensual Touching, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), Supportive Lance (Voltron), Winged Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2020-06-26 05:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 80,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19761538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truelovetakesawhile/pseuds/truelovetakesawhile
Summary: In another universe where Voltron formed minus a certain Paladin, the group accidentally picks up a winged creature they nickname Keith after stopping for peace talks on a nearby planet. After they befriend him, they end up pulled into an old war with dangerous consequences.





	1. Flight

“Tighten the restraints. We need the wings laid out flat so we can get a good look at them.”

“No, not like that. You’ll put too much strain on them. We don’t even know yet if he likes it rough.”

There was laughter, hands slapping together, cold metal brushing neck and ankles and wrists. Every breath made him more alert—more afraid.

When he swallowed, his throat pulsed uncomfortably against the metal gripping his neck.

“He’s awake,” one of the voices overhead snapped, before there were cold fingers underneath his chin. “Did someone make a note of how much sedative we used? I don’t want to waste any extra on him.”

A clatter. A curse. A firm hand squeezing his cheeks, slipping fingers into his mouth to probe at his teeth. Muscles tense, he wanted to bite down. He wanted to tear into the one holding him—to hurt them as much as he could, before they would have the chance to do the same to him. 

But his jaw was slack, eyelids heavy. His thoughts were there, vivid and swirling with panic, which jolted higher with every passing moment while their hands skimmed over him and he couldn’t move. He couldn’t move.

A frustrated grunt escaped his throat, which was better than nothing, but he’d wanted to sound more menacing. The one holding onto him ruffled his hair condescendingly with his other hand.

“Calm down little one. Just sit still and we’ll let you sleep again in a moment.”

The fingers left his mouth along but then there was tugging on his spine. The heavy weight across his back shifted. Wings. They were doing something with his wings.

With great effort, he opened his eyes just a slit. It felt like one of the others in the room had a hand on his eyelids, pressing them down whenever he fought for a look. There was silver glinting below him and lights so harsh a white it hurt to look anywhere for long. He knelt, half-bowed over on a table, with metal trapping him there. If the battle just to look felt like so much effort, he wasn’t certain how he’d get out of the restraints.

He’d never thought they would take him alive and things would get this far.

From the corner of his eye he could see feathers, black and grey and deep red, scattered across the floor. Someone dressed in white leaned over, scooping a few carefully between their palms and depositing them in a box on a little table.

He didn’t see an exit.

Breathing, feeling the collar at his throat, he closed his eyes and used that energy instead to move. The steel bands around his wrists and ankles refused to budge, fused to the table. More held his wings in place, so he couldn’t quite twist around and see what they were doing behind him. He breathed, in and out, gathering all of his strength so he could—

A hand caught up the longer hair at the back of his neck, twisting it and the tiny feathers which grew there.

There was that rumble in his throat again, but his vocal cords felt too frozen to make much more noise.

“I told you to sit.” 

The voice from before was back and the fingers were no longer so gentle. One by one, he felt as feathers were plucked from the back of his head, where it would hurt the most. He could feel it all—the sharp tug before the skin ripped and then the blood as it dripped across his skin.

But his muscles shook, throat constricting, and he couldn’t move.

It made him feel weak but more than that, it made him feel angry.

“You’re going to be with us for a very long time. You would do well to listen.”

The grip on him disappeared, but not the pain. That only dulled a little.

He breathed, in and out.

He gathered his strength.

This time when he opened his eyes, the enemy was standing in front of him. White coat, blue skin, long ears.

It had only been a simple reconnaissance mission he’d been sent out on, to see how close the enemy had come to their nests. But the mission had turned into a trap. Though he’d never been compromised before, he’d always imagined how it would go. There would be so much fighting and a lot of blood. He would take down as many of them as he could and wouldn’t stop struggling until they’d killed him.

There had never been a plan for this, where the wingless ones would strap him down and study him. He needed to get out of there. 

Lifting his chin, he worked his jaw until he felt coordinated enough, and then spat in the enemy’s face.

He needed to get out of there—or he needed for them to kill him before he accidentally gave them something to use against his people.

Spit trailed down blue skin and the enemy’s eyes widened.

“Make sure that he’s secure,” he snapped. “I’m going to—”

The lights flickered on and off, the incessant brightness fading to gray and back against it left black spots dancing in his eyes. Movement around him paused, no more tugging on his wings or threats from the scientist in front of him. There was a strange rumble in the ceiling.

“Sir, that must be the test,” a lighter voice behind him said.

The rumbling was growing louder and the lights buzzed anxiously overhead.

“Do you think—”

“That their technology isn’t exactly compatible with ours? I told them that,” the enemy sighed, tipping back his head. His long ears drooped, but he stepped toward the wall, picking up a clipboard. “I need to go supervise. Clean up here and—”

There was some kind of loud, metallic shriek above them.

“Those idiot Paladins! I knew they would only interrupt!” the enemy shouted, stalking off and out of his line of vision. 

There was a flurry of movement, as all of them left their instruments and notations behind. A section of the wall slid aside, allowing the enemy to filter out, one by one. When it slid back in place, it looked as if there had never been an opening there. Like there was no way out.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember to breathe. The restraints were constricting and the back of his neck smarted sharply.

And his wings—

He couldn’t quite see what they’d been doing to his wings.

\- - -

“I think we’ve got it this time!” Pidge called to Hunk over her shoulder. Crouched among a tangle of wires, she nearly looked like she was part of the great machine they’d been working on since landing on the planet earlier that day.

“Uh, I don’t know about this, Pidge,” Hunk said, scratching the back of his head. “Don’t you think we should slow it down a little after that power surge?”

Pidge waved away his concerns and turned back to her computer screen, typing like mad. When Hunk turned to Shiro and Lance for their concerns, the former was busy doing the whole diplomat thing, and Lance was . . . looking at himself in the shining surface of the interface they’d been trying to fix.

“We truly appreciate all of the help your Paladins have extended,” Riene, one of the highest-ranking leaders on planet, clasped her hands behind her back. “We’ve had some issues with our overall communications system after run-ins with the local wildlife.”

While Shiro winced sympathetically, Hunk tried not to think about what was possibly waiting out there to kill him. Well, them, all of them, but he was slowest which meant he’d be killed and eaten first. Hopefully in that order, because he didn’t want to end up eaten and then killed because of that, and besides Allura had promised that this planet would be nice and friendly when they’d come down to do the whole peace talk alliance thing—

“Hunk. You there?” Pidge said, twisted around and staring at him.

Even Lance was looking, hands still half-pulled through his hair.

“You alright there, pal?” he asked.

Hunk tried to look less nervous, letting out a small chuckle.

“Oh! Me. Yeah. Sure, of course. What is it that you needed from me anyway, Pidge? What are we doing, uh, now?” Hunk asked, blinking at her.

“I knew you weren’t listening to me,” Pidge accused. “We’re just going to ease on into it this time. I think the problem is that we flooded the system.”

“Right, ease into it. You gotta be smooth,” Lance said, smiling. At himself.

Hunk reluctantly went over to help Pidge.

“Ready on three,” Pidge said, lifting a hand in the air. “Three. Two. One.”

Slowly, agonizingly slow, like, Hunk-thought-he-would-grow-old-and-die-an-elderly-man-before-the-system-was-booted slow, Pidge pressed down on a single key.

The entire room went dark.

The machine went silent, as did Pidge’s computer and the cords that had been humming around her. There were no lights; there wasn’t anything but the sound of unhappy, surprised shrieks as the people who actually lived in the capital hall found themselves suddenly plunged into darkness. On a planet that didn’t get much natural light at all, it wasn’t good.

Hunk slowly released Pidge’s arm when he realized his nails were digging into her skin.

“Pidge, I don’t think that you fixed it,” Hunk said quietly.

“Does this mean that we need to start all over?” Lance groaned.

“`We`? Please, remind me again of your involvement in that code, Lance!” Pidge snapped.

Hunk rolled his eyes up into the darkness while the two bickered.

\- - -

Time passed and his limbs shook as slowly movement returned. It didn’t matter if his strength was back, when the steel keeping him locked against the table was still stronger than he was. There was no point in calling out, because anyone who could hear his voice in there was no friend of his.

Then the lights went out.

They stayed out this time and in the darkness he heard the soft clink of metal scraping against metal. Whatever current had been running through the table, keeping the cuffs locked in place, disappeared. His wrists slipped free and then he fell, plummeting sideways over the edge of the table when gravity took over. His shoulder hit the floor, taking most of his weight before the rest of him following. It screaming with pain, but he fought to ignore it and fumbled to pull himself upright.

There was no time to waste when the enemy could return at any moment.

He pulled the cuffs, loose now, from his wrists and ankles, but when he shoved his fingernails beneath the edge of the collar it remained locked tight. Tugging in frustration, he hissed. There was nothing he could do about it now.

Stumbling in the dark while trying to regain the use of his limbs, his head swam. His thoughts jumbled together, but he needed to move, if he was going to escape. His feet banged against table corners and his wings swept the floor behind him while he searched with his fingers for the exit.

If the rest of the system was out, then possibly—yes, there he felt the edge of the open doorway with his fingertips. He nearly fell through, catching himself on the wall opposite. Shuffling footsteps, drooping wings, it wasn’t a quiet escape, but he was moving. Each step forward was another step farther from the enemy’s grasp.

His shoulder and his wings and the back of his neck ached, but he only cried when the lights came back on and the brightness startled him. His eyes burned and he had to hide them for a moment, in the crook of his arm, before he could stumble on.

The halls were surprisingly empty, the enemy scientists off dealing with their electrical problem. He only hoped they wouldn’t realize how much of a problem it had been, until it was too late and he was far, far away.

There was an enormous opening off to the right, which looked like the entrance to some kind of hanger. He’d seen them before, observing, and sabotaging when the time was right. Pressing his back to the wall, he peered around the corner—sloppily, clumsily, because his limbs still didn’t feel like they were his and he might fall over at any moment.  
There was only one shuttle in the hanger, nothing like he’d ever seen before. Probably a prototype. It didn’t matter where it was going; it was just important that it was going elsewhere, and anywhere else on the planet would be immensely safer for him than in the city center.

The ramp was down, with no security around. Really, it couldn’t have been any easier.

Unable to run, he did his best to hurriedly stumble up the ramp and into the shuttle. Ignoring all of the seats, he made for the back and the cargo, squirming between a few large crates and hiding himself in the shadows. The darkness worried him, because anything else could have been hidden back there. But it soothed his burning eyes and when he heard no alarm clamoring after him, he relaxed back against the cold metal wall of the shuttle.

Perhaps it was the last of the sedative in his veins, or because his adrenaline had left him, that he passed out so quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! This is my first fic on here so I would love to hear any thoughts and apologize in advance for any potential formatting issues! I'm not currently sure of how many chapters there will be, but the next chapter should be coming soon.


	2. Ascent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew heads back to the Castle-ship, unaware that they've picked up a stray hitchhiker. First encounter.

“Good work out there, team,” Shiro said as they all filed into the shuttle. 

Planet-side operations had gone more smoothly than he could have hoped for, especially with Allura handing over some of the diplomatic duties to him. She seemed to think it was important for new planets to see the Black Paladin first, a voice of reason—a voice for peace. With how disparate some of Vidoria’s settlements were, Allura had gone to speak with some of the leaders elsewhere while Shiro oversaw the communications repair in the capitol hall.

Supervised, really, to make sure no Paladins went wandering off while Hunk and Pidge did their thing. The Vidorians had so many questions, anyway, that Shiro was happy to answer. It seemed like they might be ready to ally themselves with Voltron—after things on Vidoria were settled. There was some kind of infestation they needed to deal with, which had led to the damage in their communications system. Once that was resolved, the alliance negotiations could resume.

“Yeah, I thought I looked pretty great out there myself,” Lance said, slinging himself into one of the seats with an incredible yawn. “This whole galactic alliance thing is easy.”

“Please don’t say it’s because you’re charming the aliens while Hunk and I do all of the real work,” Pidge sighed, fitting herself into a seat beside him.

“See? You do think I’m charming. She does think I’m charming,” Lance said, turning to Hunk while he loaded on and Shiro started firing up the shuttle. “It would have been even better if I’d had Blue down here. The things I could do—”

“We have a greater responsibility here, Lance, than trying to impress anyone. The Vidorians asked us to leave the Lions up on the Castle-ship. It wouldn’t make sense to lose their trust over a request we can so easily accommodate,” Shiro said.

It was unusual, sure, because most of the planets they contacted were eager to see Voltron for themselves. They’d heard the rumors, the legends, and wanted to see the reality with their own eyes. It wasn’t like the Vidorians had seemed suspicious or like they didn’t believe the Paladins were who they claimed to be, just that they didn’t want anything to disturb their peaceful atmosphere.

“Sure, if I lived out here in the middle of space nowhere, I wouldn’t want to see the saviors of the universe, either,” Lance muttered.

\- - -

The rattling of the ship around him stopped and everything went calm. Quiet. Everything except for his heart, which beat in a rapid betrayal. He’d known something was wrong, as soon as the shuttle’s owners had boarded. Their voices had stirred him into something like consciousness, too weak to really do anything but remain hidden and listen.

While they’d talked amongst themselves, he’d realized he couldn’t understand a word they said.

The enemy thought themselves clever enough, without needing to call in allies from off-planet. He couldn’t remember the last time there had been visitors from elsewhere, and yet they’d been right there in the capitol, and he was right there on their ship.

There was a hiss of hydraulics and then the voices were fading as the group disembarked. He pressed himself further back against the crates surrounding him, waiting in the darkness. It didn’t bother him much; his night vision was very good, and darkness was what had freed him from the scientists’ hands, after all.

_Cold hands touching the back of his neck, pressing into his mouth. Pain flaring, feathers falling, as his throat strained and no sound emerged, not even a gasp, and he—_

He smoothed his hand over the back of his neck. It was sore and sticky with dried blood; his fingertips touched the cool metal of the collar fastened there. No matter where the strangers had taken him, it had to be another city center, if they’d allied themselves with the enemy. It meant he’d need to make another escape but there would be tools there, things he could use to pry himself free. He couldn’t return home, not with the collar still locked around her throat.

He tried not to think about what the enemy had planned to do with it, deep in the capitol where no one would ever be able to find him.

They’d dressed him in gray, pants and a shirt that hung loosely on his lanky frame, with plenty of room cut open in the back to accommodate his wings. He rubbed his hand against his thigh, trying to clean some of the blood off of his fingers before he pulled himself from his hiding place between crates.

There wasn’t much space in the cargo hold, but a small aisle had been cleared to allow the strangers to maneuver around whenever they planned to unload it all. Shaking out his wings, he sighed as it relieved some of the tightness in his back, the tension in his shoulders. They still felt odd and his muscles jumped with the need to fly, to run, to fight—it was terribly difficult to remember to stay calm.

He’d never been very good at rationalizing himself toward patience.

Tucking his wings close to his back, he attempted to pry open a few of the boxes, but they were shut tight. None of the labels on the sides made any sense to him, anyway; if he was going to make it home then he would need to steal his supplies elsewhere.

Swallowing hard, he ignored the dryness in his mouth and the pain in his throat. He was alive and almost free, and needed to keep reminding himself of that.

The ramp the strangers had used was still down, letting light spill inside the shuttle. Not too bright, not like those blinding ones in the lab, but his stomach twisted all the same. There were several seats, all empty, apart from one which had something blue and white tucked into a side pocket. Pulling it free, he held it curiously, as there was clearly a place in the center where he needed to grip it but there were no sharp edges so he wasn’t certain it was a weapon. There were two arches on either side, nearly covering his knuckles but despite its perfect balance, it seemed useless.

“Pidge, I’ll catch up in a minute, alright! No need to keep lecturing me about leaving my bayard behind. Irresponsible, I get it!”

The voice called from nearby—too close. One of the strangers. Though he had no idea what the words meant, they were undoubtedly getting louder. Footsteps rang on the bottom of the ramp and there was a strange whistling as lights snapped on overhead.

Bright—too bright, and he dropped the thing he’d been holding, so the blue and white skittered away across the floor. It was so hard to keep his eyes open and they burned—they burned but there was someone there, coming closer, and they would give him back to the enemy. 

They would only make the pain worse.

Hands curling into fists, sharp nails biting into his palms, he stepped forward. Wings flaring, the black and grey and red feathers meant to intimidate, he pulled back his lips and bared his teeth. 

He hissed—or tried to hiss, because no noise escaped his throat.

The thing in front of him, the stranger, froze at the top of the ramp. It was dressed in white and blue, like some kind of armor, and it looked . . . 

It looked a little like his kind, not like the enemy.

But the stranger had already begun to back away, inching toward safety and its fellow strangers, and the enemy. It would bring the enemy there.

Letting out an odd shriek, it started to shout, “Monster! Guys, there’s some kind of—"

He brought it down easily, tackling it into the shuttle and shoving his hand over the stranger’s mouth so only muffled protests could escape from between his fingers. Knee pressed into its ribs, he loomed over it, spreading his wings a little wider.

Its eyes were so wide and blue, a different shade than the armor it wore. Its eyes were like a storm that lingered on the horizon, and they were hazy with fear.

When he leaned closer, near its neck, he pulled in a deep breath. He could smell the fear beneath its skin, the adrenaline in its veins as it struggled to push him away. But there was no anger—no hatred, the scent the enemy always wore.

There was . . . confusion?

Having pinned it down without any further violence, it eventually stilled, laying back against the floor. Its skin was several shades darker than his and its teeth, when he moved his fingers, were strangely blunted.

But it looked more like _him_ , than the enemy.

Baring his teeth in warning, he opened his mouth to demand answers—where the strangers had come from, and where they were now, while also assuring it that he wouldn’t kill it if he didn’t have to—but the words died in his throat.

He tried again, but there was no noise. Every time he tried to speak, it felt like his vocal cords withered and died inside of him, refusing to cooperate.

One hand against its throat, he uncovered its mouth and felt along the collar locked around his throat.

The things the enemy could do to his kind, if no one would ever hear them scream.

“Hey,” the stranger beneath him said, quietly enough that he didn’t jab his knee farther into its ribs. “I don’t know where you came from or, really, what you want, but we’re, uh, the Paladins of Voltron. The good guys. Here to save you all, and stuff. I mean, you don’t really seem like an overly excited fan who snuck aboard our shuttle—”

It really talked a lot.

He wasn’t sure of what kind of face he was making, but the stranger cut itself off.

“Do you even know what I’m saying?”

He wondered if maybe that was meant to be a plea for mercy. It didn’t seem like a death threat; its scent hadn’t changed at all.

There was a clink, of metal on metal, and both glanced to where its hand had wandered—off to the side, closer to the blue and white thing he had dropped earlier. The stranger’s hand had glanced off one of the chair supports instead.

Feeding the flicker of annoyance in his chest, he grabbed the stranger’s wrist and pulled it between them.

“Whoa. Wow. Look. I wasn’t even trying anything!” it said, and he did understand the nervous laugh that came from it. Whatever it was trying to say, it was undoubtedly lying. “Just, you know, you attack me on my own ship, and—”

He shifted to pick up its other hand as well, tilting his head at it. 

“Is that . . . blood?” The stranger’s stormy gaze was trapped on his fingers and he looked down at them as well, at the ruby splotches staining his pale skin.

Then he placed both hands, gently, on either side of the collar at his neck, and mimed pulling it apart. As best he could, he tried to convey with his eyes that he would ensure the stranger wouldn’t die a horrible death, if it managed to get the collar off.

“What is that thing?” it asked, shifting to look at his neck. The stranger’s scent did change then, to alarm with a mixture of pity, which he didn’t really appreciate. “You want it off?”

He made the gesture again, uncertain of why it kept trying to speak to him, like he would suddenly understand its language.

When he pressed its hands against the collar again, it leaned up a little to get a closer look. The metal, which had felt tight all along, suddenly felt even more constrictive.

He blinked, breathing more deeply, but it felt like there was no more air. Like hardly anything could get through, and the more he struggled for it, the harder his lungs worked, the collar tightened even farther.

The stranger’s hands dropped, when his grip loosened, and he clawed at the collar himself. He forgot to keep track of where the stranger’s hands were; he forgot to keep most of his weight on its chest to keep it in place. 

There was no air.

_There was no air. ___

__He couldn’t breathe._ _

__Rolling aside, wings sprawling, his heels kicked at the floor uselessly as his nails gouged his skin. But the collar wouldn’t loosen; the metal was too tight, tighter. Someone shouted and the stranger was on its feet in that harsh, blinding light, looking down at him, and the fear was so strong in the air that some of it had to belong to him._ _

__The lights weren’t so blinding, when the darkness was closing in._ _

__There were hands on him, but he could hardly think. His limbs were moving, but he could hardly control them._ _

__He knew, without a doubt, that he preferred to die like this, rather than let the scientists have him again._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> In case the second scene caused some confusion, the he/him pronouns refer to Keith, and it/the stranger is Lance. Names will appear in Keith's POV starting with the next chapter.
> 
> I appreciate all of your comments more than you know!!


	3. Turbulence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith meets the Paladins; no one really has a great time.

In, out.

In, out.

He breathed in a steady rhythm, though it felt like he was floating—flying, enveloped in something soft that dulled his senses. Warm, with his wings wrapped tight around him, he pressed his cheek into the cushion beneath him.

It was comfortable, but when he breathed in it smelled like metal and fresh linen and old blood. It didn’t smell anything like home.

Something beeped steadily nearby and the clearer his thoughts became, the more afraid he was to open his eyes. That noise meant machines, and testing, and who else would do that but the enemy, who else would want to poke and pry and hurt him—

He shifted, hearing metal creak while soft words were spoken overhead. His head ached as if he’d slammed it into something hard, over and over again. There was a tiredness in his limbs, an ache near his wings, as if he’d flown nonstop for hours. 

What had happened?

He’d been captured. There had been the scientists and the pain they wielded, then his escape.

He hadn’t been able to breathe, he remembered that, and someone with tan skin and eyes like a storm.

Opening his own eyes felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done.

“Hey, buddy. Are you really awake, this time?”

This . . . time?

That didn’t make any sense. There had been the stranger, then choking and struggling and darkness, then this. Nothing else, nothing in-between.

He blinked, though the lights were dim against the white ceiling above him so he didn’t need to strain his eyes. When he tried raised his head, bruises pulled and skin ached, but he was stubborn and managed to partially lift himself upright.

“Take it slowly, okay? You were injured and probably don’t feel too great right now,” the voice continued while his eyes focused.

There was the stranger from before, no longer in the blue and white armor, no longer frowning. When he stopped speaking, his lips quirked with a smile probably meant to be reassuring—meant to trick him—and that was when he realized he could understand.

Perhaps he really had hit his head, because the stranger’s language had been incomprehensible before. His outline did waver slightly, as he leaned closer.

“I’m Lance,” he said, hooking his thumb toward his chest. “I just wanted to let you know that I totally could have taken you on the shuttle, but you took me by surprise and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Lance,” another voice chastened.

His gaze snapped to the left, to another stranger. This one stood against the wall, dressed mostly in black. There was a strange white patch in his hair and his arm—something was wrong with it, because it was entirely metal.

He bared his teeth at both of them, as a precaution. He didn’t want to know what the stranger would be able to do with that arm or what they planned to do with him.

“I’m Shiro,” the other stranger said, taking a step forward. “I know this must all be a lot for you to take in right now, but we need to ask you a few questions.”

“Yeah, more like a lot of questions,” Lance said, elbows planted on his knees, face cradled in his hands. “Like, how did you end up on the shuttle? Why do you look almost human? I mean, apart from those—”

He reached forward, like he was going to grab at his wings.

Hissing, he lunged forward to snap at Lance’s hand, only to be pulled up short by a cuff tying him down to the bed he’d been laid out on. Tugging on it only hurt his wrist, but the rest of him was free to move around. Digging his heels into the sheets sliding beneath him, he tried to gather enough leverage to get closer to Lance.

With a growl, he—

He blinked, peering down at himself. Still in the grey clothing the scientists had put him in, still hurting, but when he made an experimental click in the back of his throat, the noise was back. It eased something inside of him, to know that he could rant or scream or shout and they would both be forced to listen.

“Lance, get away from him,” Shiro warned.

“It’s fine, Shiro. He can’t even reach me. I think he’s just scared,” Lance said, before turning back to him. “Pidge, our friend, she was able to get that collar off of you before it crushed your windpipe. Must be nice not being slowly smothered anymore, huh?”

With his free hand he reached up to his throat, brushing his fingers over skin that smarted with bruises but was bare, no metal locked around it. When he reached farther back, the base of his neck was bandaged, blood cleaned away.

Leaving his hand there, he peered at the two. Lance and Shiro. Strange names, fitting for strangers, who might have fit in with his kind, if only they hadn’t been missing their wings. 

They didn’t even smell like they were going to hurt him. There was the fear still, though not as strong in Lance as it had been before, and he knew that Shiro _would_ hurt him if he ended up biting Lance, so it was probably lucky that the restraints hadn’t allowed for that.

“Did you bring me back?” he asked, cutting right to the point. He didn’t look at either of them directly, focusing on the wall as he pulled more gently at the cuff trapping his wrist. 

The enemy would be coming into the room at any moment. They’d take him back to the lab.

This room was different. Larger, with other beds around him, all empty, and actual doorways that didn’t blend with the walls. So much of everything was white except for the strange machines nearby, sickly gray and beeping.

“Back? Oh, to Vidoria?” Lance asked.

“Unfortunately, Lance only discovered you after we had . . . moved locations,” Shiro said, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’ll take a while before we can arrange another visit to that system, but I’m sure we can—”

“No.”

Both of them stared hard when he cut in, snapping out the word the way he’d wanted to bite at Lance.

“I’m not going back to them, you Vidorian—” He proceeded to eloquently curse them out, though judging by the way their eyebrows rose, something was being lost in translation. He still wasn’t certain of how they’d miraculously learned how to understand him.

“It seems to me like you have very strong feelings about your home planet. A lot to unpack there. The good news is, we can’t take you back for a while, which gives you plenty of time to explain yourself,” Lance said.

“Who are you?” Shiro asked. “Why are you on our ship?”

“Why can I understand you?” he asked, wrapping his fingers around the cuff and trying his best to pry it off.

“No, see, that isn’t how this whole ‘interrogation’ thing works,” Lance said, moving his fingers oddly in the air while he said the word ‘interrogation’.

_Bright lights and feathers, drifting across the floor, and questions, so many questions, asking about his family and friends and his mission, they wanted to know about his mission, they wanted to know how much pain he could be in before he would talk about the_ mission.

He didn’t realize he was growling until Lance scooted away a little in his chair.

“Okay! Alright. You can understand us because of the universal translator. Do you remember my friend who removed the collar? Pidge? She hooked you up with one,” Lance said, tapping his ear.

_Gentle hands on him while he was falling and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t—_

Lifting his free hand, he felt along the curve of his ear, and a chill crept up his spine when he felt the curving metal fitted there. With his skin so numb, with his head aching, he hadn’t even noticed it.

“We figured it would be easier to understand what you wanted and who did this to you if you could, you know, communicate,” Lance said before he smiled again. The expression was strange and made his stomach twist. “And, look, it works!”

Shifting his fingers, he pinched the device and it pulled free of his ear easily. It wasn’t locked; he wasn’t trapped. It was fine, and he was fine, and they hadn’t taken him back to the enemy yet, but—

He hurled the device at the wall between Shiro and Lance, watching it break into several pieces, so he wouldn’t need to listen to their lies anymore.

\- - -

Lance had thrown up his arms, sure he was about to be pegged in the face by Pidge’s translator, and was only mildly surprised to hear it crack against the wall instead. From between his fingers, he looked to Shiro to make sure that he was alright, and then to the alien they had cuffed to one of the infirmary beds.

It was uncanny how human he looked. Pale skin, all gangly limbs and snarls. Dark hair, long and knotted, half-pressed against his face where he’d been sleeping on it. 

The differences were what threw Lance off. Those eyes, the kind of purple you only expected to find somewhere deep in the cosmos. The sharp teeth; Lance was glad Shiro had insisted on some precautions before their hitchhiker woke up, because they couldn’t be certain of what he was thinking, what he planned to do. Voltron had too many enemies scattered across the universe.

The biggest difference was the wings.

They were huge and hardly fit into the bed alongside the creature. The feathers were all shades of grey and black and red; they ruffled, as if they mimicked his annoyance, and a few had already drifted free to gather beneath the recovery bed.

Lance had touched them, after they’d stopped the whole collar-trying-to-strangle-him thing. Those wings were softer than they looked, but heavy, so he’d needed Hunk’s help to maneuver him into the infirmary.

Pidge already had a dozen hypotheses about the creature’s species, whether he could actually fly and where he had come from. There hadn’t been anyone else like him, in the capital. Those aliens had all been taller, bluer, but definitely just as cranky. Before leaving the infirmary Pidge had pestered Lance until he promised to get her those answers, except, well . . . The whole communication thing wouldn’t work so well, now.

Lance glanced to one of the upper corners of the room, where he knew Pidge and Hunk, Coran and Allura, would all be gathered around a viewscreen watching and listening in on what was happening below them. They’d decided it would be best not to have everyone crowded around the hitchhiker in case that overwhelmed him.

Or, you know, in case he woke up and tried to go on a murderous rampage.

“Uh, Pidge? Now would probably be a good time to bring down that spare,” Lance said sheepishly, glancing down at the scattered bits of metal around his feet. What remained of the translator winked pathetically in the dimmed infirmary lights.

“If we’d cuffed both of his hands, we wouldn’t have this delay and might actually have some useful intel,” Shiro chastened quietly, though he’d paced back to the corner of the room now that the creature had quieted down.

Lance had argued against tying him down at all, but they’d settled on a compromise. One wrist handcuffed to the recovery bed. The alien hadn’t stopped tugging at the cuff since he’d woken.

“He’s just scared, I think,” Lance said, gesturing to the creature, who tilted his head to the side when he saw he was being referenced. 

There was nothing in those purple eyes that spoke of understanding, though. With the translator gone, Lance and Shiro could have been talking about chopping up the creature into little bits—which he supposed explained why he looked so uneasy. “Listen, he could have totally killed me back in the shuttle, and none of you would have known until—until it was too late.”

Lance didn’t need to admit how stupid he’d been in leaving his bayard behind and letting himself get caught off guard by the hitchhiker. He’d already had half of the team lecture him about that, with real worry in their eyes as they realized how quickly one of their own could have been killed. The creature would have only had to lower his head a few extra inches to tear our Lance’s throat with those sharp teeth.

His breath had been so gentle against Lance’s skin, while the Paladin had thought about what it might feel like to die when he was supposed to be safe inside the Castle.

“But he didn’t even really hurt me. I have no idea what he was trying to say, but it felt like he was explaining that he _didn’t_ want to kill me. Kind of nice to have an alien around who doesn’t want the pleasure of murdering the Blue Paladin, for once,” Lance said, kicking his heels out as he leaned back in his chair.

The hitchhiker’s eyes followed his movement, purple gaze locked onto him. In the corner, Shiro massaged his forehead like he was beginning to get a headache. From the tension around the alien’s shoulders, the jut of his jaw, it looked like he expected them to hurt him because he’d destroyed their translator.

There was a knock by the door before it slid open. Pidge was there, dark circles under her eyes, experimental tech in her hands.

She’d wanted to be in the room when the creature woke up, too, but Shiro wouldn’t allow it. He’d hardly let Lance in, who’d insisted that things would proceed more smoothly if the creature had a familiar face around when it was conscious. But Pidge was the one who’d saved him, really; she’d hacked into the tech in the collar, managing to unlock it before it did too much damage to the alien. Sure, there was a ring of nasty bruises around his neck, but that was a heck of a lot better than him ending up dead.

It’d been close. _Really_ close. As in, Pidge had made sure the alien was breathing and then sat there shell-shocked for a few minutes, refusing to let anyone get closer to check on her. Without knowing anything about the creature, without even knowing for certain it wasn’t there to kill them—Lance had still seen the hurt in her eyes, mixed with fear. She would have blamed herself, if they’d lost him.

Over his shoulder, the creature hissed when Pidge entered the room. His wings shifted but jostled against the bedframe and the wall; there was nowhere for him to go.

“This is the last one for now, Lance. Otherwise I’ll have to rebuild something from the pieces he left me,” Pidge said, nudging a scattered piece of metal with the toe of her boot. “Think you can convince him not to destroy this one?”

“Yeah! Yeah, sure. I think he trusts me, now that we’re mutually agreed not to kill each other,” Lance said, taking the earpiece from her. 

He turned it over and over in his hands, until she reached out to stop him.

“I’ve been poking around in that collar, to see if maybe it was meant to be a weapon that malfunctioned,” Pidge said, glancing over toward Shiro. The creature shifted restlessly on the bed. “I don’t think it was. Actually, most of the functions I found seem to only be useful against the person actually wearing it.”

Her gaze slipped over to the creature finally, and Lance followed her look. The sheets were all kicked over the side of the bed, pillow on the floor as well. His eyes were narrowed, like he was trying very hard to listen in on their conversation. When he noticed that he had their attention, his wings puffed up while he bared his teeth.

While it wasn’t like they were trapped in the shadowy confines of the shuttle anymore, Lance had to admit that it was still a little terrifying. Maybe Shiro had been right about the cuffs.

“The tech signatures inside of it seemed extremely similar to the ones in the communications array,” Pidge said, adjusting her glasses. “I think the Vidorians made it.”

“Those guys? The ones who couldn’t even repair their own communications system? They wouldn’t know how to build something like this,” Lance insisted, though he was beginning to feel uneasy. “They said themselves that they’ve been a peaceful people for thousands of years.”

The Vidorians had been exceptionally welcoming. Sure, the Paladins hadn’t been toured around the capital like they usually were on planets they visited, but that was only because there were too many systems outages in the city. They hadn’t met too many civilians, because a lot were keeping to their homes because . . . because . . . 

_We’ve been having problems with the local wildlife._

“We didn’t have much information on the Vidorians before we landed. About as much as we currently know about him,” Shiro said, every word reluctant as he gestured toward the hissing creature. “Hypothetically, they could have asked us not to bring our Lions down there because they had something to hide.”

Lance glanced at the translator in his hand, then over at the creature. He was quiet, though he sort of still looked like his brain was a little rattled after his brush with death.

“Lance—”

Shiro’s voice rang out behind him when Lance stepped closer to the alien, holding out the translator so that he could see it. Slow, easy movements—that was what always helped, when Lance didn’t want to startle someone. When he went to one of the Paladins he’d woken after a battle with too many nightmares. When Allura was having a bad day, remembering her family, or Shiro was caught in the past.

“We can’t help you if we can’t understand each other,” Lance said, standing beside the bed. He was highly aware of how close he was—nearly in biting range. Those sharp teeth were thankfully put away, as the creature turned those cosmos eyes to the translator, then to Lance.

He said something, but both of them knew Lance wouldn’t understand the words. 

It felt like a lifetime. It felt like a moment. But the creature turned his chin slowly, baring his neck, lifting his ear. He nodded, once.

Lance gently touched the hitchhiker’s chin and fitted on the translator as slowly as he could manage, afraid to startle him. This close, Lance could see how rapidly he breathed, the flutter of his frantic pulse in his throat. The Paladin took no pleasure in being right—the alien was afraid of them.

“That’s better, right? I know my dulcet tones are the real pleasure, but my words are just as important,” Lance said, flashing the creature a grin.

The alien lifted his hand, touching the curve of the translator with a fingertip, before looking past Lance. Eyes narrow, assessing, but at least there was some curiosity in his expression, not just fear.

“That’s Pidge, the one I was telling you about earlier. You can apologize for breaking her tech later, if you want,” Lance said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.

He nodded, brushing his free hand against his throat, but Lance wasn’t sure that the alien would remember having seen Pidge before. By the time she’d made it into the shuttle, his face had been red, lips turning blue, and something in those purple eyes had already been . . . gone.

“Can you tell us who you are?” Shiro asked, attempting to bring the conversation back on track.

The creature nodded again, but whatever came from his mouth was . . . odd. A mix between a click and a chirrup, something Lance knew he could never replicate.

“Pidge?” Shiro asked and they all looked toward the smallest Paladin, even the creature.

“I don’t know. It seems like a name that isn’t translating properly,” Pidge said, lifting her hands. “The entire device is a prototype and he destroyed the better one of the two.”

“I’m sorry.”

The three Paladins looked to the alien, who only seemed _slightly_ contrite about all of the destruction. His voice was hoarse, rough around the edges, but the kind that seemed to favor petulance and anger, anyway.

“No more breaking things,” Lance said, rubbing his hand against his chin as he looked down at the alien. “Give me a minute to think. We’re going to need a nickname for you.”

“Nickname?” Shiro blinked. “Lance, he isn’t a—”

“No, no,” Lance waved his hand. “I’ll give him a real name. Like . . . Greg. John. James.”

The creature hissed.

“Okay, not James. I can work with that,” Lance said, squinting at the creature. He might have looked human, but he wasn’t sure that a human name would match. Too late for that. “Keith. You’re definitely a Keith.”

Keith glared at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! The next chapter or two will have fluffier bits as Keith and the Paladins get to know each other, and then we'll probably start getting into the terrible flashbacks. :D As always, I appreciate any comments!


	4. Glide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith has to decide whether he's going to cooperate. Space Dad Shiro swoops in.

They let the short one in green stay, probably because she kicked up a fuss when the one called Shiro tried to remove her from the room again. 

“Pidge, he could be dangerous—”

“He didn’t seem very dangerous when he was dying, Shiro—"

Keith glanced toward Lance, who lingered next to the bed while the others bickered. Tucking his wings a little closer to himself, Keith couldn’t help but stare.

“What are you?” Keith asked, gesturing toward Lance with his chin. “You don’t look like . . . them.”

The enemy. He didn’t look like the enemy.

“I’m human. We’re human,” Lance said, gesturing back to where Pidge was practically trying to crawl over Shiro’s shoulder to get back into the room. “We’ve come from . . . pretty far away.”

There was a tightness around those eyes, the deep blue almost bottomless for a moment before the Lance—the human’s smile tried to shake off something, something bad.

“We’re the Paladins of Voltron. Haven’t you heard of us? The—the people in the capital, they seemed to know who we are,” Lance said, folding his arms over his chest.

Keith shook his head when the term remained unfamiliar. It was possible there was something not quite translating, but more likely that his people simply hadn’t known about these human Paladins. “We don’t have much information from off planet.”

They had enough problems of their own at home, without trying to involve the rest of the universe.

“We don’t have much information from your planet, which is why we need some answers,” Lance said, with a smile that was probably meant to be encouraging because it was softer around the edges. “Can you tell us about what happened to you?”

The room had gone quiet, apart from the beeping machines. Pidge stood nearly adhered to Shiro’s side as she’d refused to leave, and it was clear they were all waiting for him to say something. Brushing his fingers against the translator clipped to his ear made the humans tense, but Keith only checked to see if he could still freely remove it before letting his hand fall back into his lap.

“What do you want to know?” Keith asked, stomach twisting uncomfortably. The humans were different and, so far, they had only helped him—but he couldn’t help but think it was all a trick. When he looked through the open doorway, he expected to see one of the scientists peering through at him. Like he was a pinned-down experiment.

But if he told them only what the scientists already knew . . .

“Who put that collar around your neck?” Pidge asked before the others could get a word in.

“The enemy,” Keith answered. That was an easy one.

“The Vidorians?” Shiro clarified.

Keith nodded. That was what they called themselves, the ones who lived in the big metal cities with towering buildings that crowded the skies. The ones who came into the forests and took the trees, took their food and homes and families. The ones who wanted him gone.

“Why would they do something like that?” Lance asked, shifting his stance while catching his lower lip between his teeth.

“They caught me.” Keith rubbed his hand against the bandages pressed to the back of his neck. Though he hadn’t gone down easily, in the end he’d fallen, and that was all that mattered. “They don’t like my kind.”

“Why?” Lance asked, while at the same time Pidge questioned, “What did you do?”

The sky had been so clear, the last time Keith had seen it before heading into the capital. No clouds at all, nothing but perfect gray. He’d known there was a chance he’d never see it again, but knowing and believing that to be true were two incredibly different things.

“We take up too much space,” Keith said finally.

While the humans looked at one another, probably deciding if they should just switch methods and get on with the torture, Keith pulled at the handcuff again. His wrist was already raw and red beneath the metal.

“We didn’t see anyone else who looked like you in the capital,” Shiro said, finally. “Are you saying you aren’t welcome there?”

When Keith shook his head, Lance threw himself down into a chair.

“Then you were there as a prisoner,” Lance guessed.

Guessed, or he’d already known, because the Vidorians had fed them all of this information already while they planned to extract more vital secrets from Keith.

“Well, what did you do that made them put that thing around your neck?” Lance asked, leaning forward. “Must have made them pretty angry, right? What did you do to them?”

The mission. _The mission_. Of course they would ask about the mission.

Keith didn’t realize he was growling until Lance moved backward a few inches.

“If they’re really in the middle of some inter-species war, I doubt he’s going to tell you anything about that, Lance,” Pidge said. “I think it’s safe to assume he was a danger to the Vidorians. We just need to establish that he isn’t a danger to us.”

“Hey, no one is a danger to us. We’re Paladins,” Lance claimed, chest puffed with pride that seemed to deflate when Keith only eyed him blankly.

“We can’t trust you,” Shiro said to Keith, which seemed fair enough. “But the entire purpose of Voltron is to defend those in need. If your people really are in danger because of the Vidorians, we might be able to help.”

What were three humans meant to do against the enemy? Three humans who’d probably already allied themselves with them. Keith crossed his arms over his chest.

“We can’t trust you,” Keith repeated after Shiro. 

A sharp laugh came from Lance and he was doing that strange smile again, as if he wasn’t at all intimidated.

Keith growled again, but this time it truly wasn’t his fault—it was his stomach. He swallowed, as best he could with his dry throat, knees curling upward as if folding in on himself could make him less hungry. Less . . . vulnerable. If they knew he was already starving, they could use that against him.

“I’m guessing they don’t feed prisoners very well on Vidoria,” Pidge said. “Luckily for you, we happen to have a great cook on board.”

The way she and Lance were smiling made Keith’s stomachache intensify. They’d poison him, then. Wait until he was writhing on the ground to ask their questions. Or they truly would give him the food—only to yank it away from him at the last tantalizing moment. They’d offer to give it back, to treat him to a feast, if only he’d tell them a few secrets. If only he’d trust these people who almost looked like his kind, who almost looked like they could be trusted.

Lance snapped his fingers and then pointed toward Pidge. “Good thinking. Hunk can make anyone feel more comfortable,” he said before turning to Keith. “Eventually, you’ll have to give in and believe that we can help you.”

It sounded a little bit like a threat.

\- - -

They left the cuff around Keith’s wrist but unlocked him from the bed. Though Shiro was a little worried about taking the alien around the Castle-ship, that mostly stemmed from knowing that Keith didn’t trust them. If the alien had been able to sneak on board so easily, they’d need to keep a careful eye on him.

But there was something about the way Keith carried himself that was familiar. The way his jaw tightened and he lifted his chin defiantly, even when he hadn’t been able to understand Lance or Shiro. When he stood from the recovery bed, knees shaky, there were tense cords of muscle in Keith’s arms.

He looked like the prisoners Shiro had known, back when he’d been held by the Galra. He looked like a rebel, ready to fight against anything that stood in his way because it would mean a better life for other people, somewhere out there in the universe. It worried him because he didn’t _want_ Keith to be telling the truth. That meant Voltron had just aided a species who tortured their captives. Just like the Galra.

Shiro didn’t think someone could fake the mistrust in Keith’s stance or how, each time his expression softened, he would immediately scowl as if scolding himself for dropping his guard. They just needed to find a way to prove they weren’t working with the Vidorians against him.

“You don’t really say much, do you?” Lance asked while Keith steadied his footing. The Paladin didn’t reach over to help him; for once, Lance was being reasonable and keeping his distance. Turning, he waved his hands toward the camera in the corner of the room. “Hunk! Meet us in the kitchen, would you?”

Keith glanced toward the corner, startled, wings ruffling behind him. They relaxed back when he saw that no one new had entered the room; at rest, the wings brushed against the ground.

“Come on, it isn’t a long walk to the kitchen,” Shiro said, stepping toward the door with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “We’ll give you an escort.”

Whether Keith liked it or not.

Shiro held back while Pidge and Lance spilled out into the hallway and Keith watched them all with a strange look scrunching his face. Shiro thought that maybe he could understand that, better than the other Paladins might. After he’d escaped the Galra, there would be odd moments when it would feel off to have complete control over his body. To not have someone dragging him down a hall, screaming in his face. 

When Keith stepped forward, his wings dragged, and stirred little eddies of black and red feathers scattered on the floor.

“How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?” Pidge asked once Keith was out in the hallway.

Shiro took up the rear and the other two, despite their relaxed demeanor, kept to either side of the alien. They knew better than to turn their back on him, and it was terrible not being able to trust anyone in this universe but, well, Shiro felt a little proud.

“No,” Keith answered quickly—too quickly.

“It wasn’t a trick question,” Pidge tried to assure him. “After I popped the collar off, we tried treating your superficial wounds while you were out. But we weren’t sure if there was anything we missed because the, uh, wings kept getting in the way.”

Drawing his wings closer to his back again caused a few more feathers to shake loose. Shiro stepped around them; Coran wouldn’t be very pleased about the state they were leaving the castle in.

“Just my throat,” Keith finally said, with the same amount of gravity as if they’d just pulled state secrets out of him.

“Don’t worry, Hunk’s food will have you forgetting all about that. Coran can take another look at you later, too. We were going to try fitting you into one of our healing pods, but weren’t sure if your wings would fit and if it would even work with your species,” Lance said, shrugging while he tucked his hands into his pockets.

A few more turns, a few long hallways, and they arrived at the kitchen. Lance went in first, pausing only to call out to Hunk before running in and nearly tackling him, like he hadn’t just seen him less than an hour ago. Pidge was more reluctant to let Keith out of her sight and Shiro—Shiro still watched Keith, carefully.

The alien had been memorizing the route to the kitchen; Shiro had seen him glancing around, never looking in one place for very long. That meant the longer they had him on the Castle-ship, the more he’d know about their home. Any information like that could be used against Voltron, but . . . Keith didn’t actually seem very interested in learning more about the Paladins.

Actually, he hesitated on the threshold to the kitchen and the way he shifted toward the hall, it looked like he wanted more than anything to sprint for the shuttle bay. The exact thing a spy or assassin or whatever other terrible thing the Galra could send after them _wouldn’t_ want to do.

“Keith,” Shiro said, surprised when the alien actually looked toward him. Maybe the human nickname was fitting, after all. “We aren’t going to force you to eat anything. You don’t need to worry about that. You don’t need to tell us about what happened to you, yet. But I’m assuming you need to build your strength up a little, and you can’t do that on an empty stomach.”

It was difficult to tell what Keith was thinking, when his expression was always so . . . grumpy. Angry. Annoyed. But those wings seemed to betray him, very publicly displaying how tense he was.

“We can mistrust each other just the same, while we’re eating,” Shiro said, rubbing the back of his head with his metal fingers.

Maybe Keith saw something in Shiro that looked familiar, too, because he only sighed and then walked into the kitchen to meet the other Paladins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy moments incoming, angst afterward. :)
> 
> As always, I absolutely love your comments!


	5. Grounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is confused by the Paladins but they're trying their best.

Lifting his head, Keith tentatively scented the air. This room had other people inside of it, as well as a long table and several chairs. Food was already put out on the tabletop and one of the humans pulled more from an oven in the wall. 

There were no obvious areas where they could secure him in restraints and no ominous carts sitting nearby holding shiny, sharp things to use against him. Nothing that screamed laboratory; it didn’t even look anything like the enemy bases he’d been inside because the color scheme and layout was completely different.

“That one over there in yellow is Hunk. He’ll make your taste buds explode,” Lance said, hanging back and grinning until he saw Keith’s concerned look. “Uh, in a good way. And those two are Allura and Coran. They aren’t human but they’re—I guess they’re kind of like you. They look kind of like us, but different.”

Coran gave a very excited wave from his seat at the table. Even if they weren’t human, their species seemed very similar apart from sharply pointed ears and colorful marks beneath their eyes. Perhaps their species also had an alliance with the enemy.

“Here, you should sit down,” Pidge said, pulling out a chair near one end of the table.

It actually sounded like a suggestion, not an order.

The space left him enough room to settle his wings in behind him, the comforting press of them close to his back practically one of the only things keeping him from completely panicking. He hated feeling so weak, not having much information about what was going on around him. Even the walk there had left him drained; Keith truly didn’t know if he’d be able to stand up again, if necessary. The muscles in his legs jumped with exertion.

How long had the enemy kept him unconscious in that lab? Long enough to weaken him before they’d even begun with the restraints, and the poking and prodding and the pain—

“I wasn’t really sure about what you’d like to eat, so I figured we’d give you a little bit of everything and work from there,” the one called Hunk said. He hovered nervously—but it was over the food, not Keith, until Hunk slid a plate in front of him.

It was filled with mysterious lumps that were vivid green and further along the table there were other dishes in neon colors. None looked very appealing. Keith’s nose crinkled.

Surreptitiously sniffing the air, Keith scented only happiness between the Paladins, with an undercurrent of wariness. That was only to be expected. Leaning closer to the plate, he breathed more deeply. Whatever the noxious green blobs were, they had an unappetizing smell that curled his toes. But they didn’t smell like poison.

Keith flinched, back knocking against his chair when Lance’s hand was suddenly in his space. This was the moment they’d pull the food away or force him to eat it because they knew it would do something terrible to him. But the human only scooped up a bit of the goo that was on Keith’s plate, eating it was exaggerated motions.

“See? It’s safe,” Lance declared.

“We only hope to look after your well-being while we attempt to sort out your situation,” Allura said from across the table, clasping her hands together. “Perhaps it would not hurt to try it?”

Lance was still alive, attention switched to flicking neon bits of food onto Pidge’s arm. It didn’t smell like this was a trick, but Keith couldn’t be sure he wasn’t just telling himself that because he was so desperately hungry.

Reluctantly, he picked up the utensil beside the plate and then ate a mouthful of the goo.

Well, attempted to.

As soon as it was in his mouth, his body rebelled, and he spat the horrible green substance back onto his plate. Rubbing his mouth, trying to get the rest of it out from between his fangs, Keith gagged.

“Bad,” Keith declared, mouth twisted with horror when he stared down at the plate. Hissing at it, for good measure. Humans must not have been able to taste anything, because all of their taste buds had been exploded. 

He was going to end up starving to death on this ship, and would prefer that to touching any of that goo ever again.

Hunk watched him, crestfallen. “A little setback, but that’s okay. I’ll just need to get a little more creative.”

With one finger, Keith pushed his plate as far away from himself as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, there was a small movement by the floor. A little creature sat there, blinking up toward him. It squeaked, Keith’s mouth watered, and in a flash he’d launched himself across the room after it.

“The mice!” Allura shouted as Keith’s chair cracked back against the floor.

One step, two—he raced after the squeaking creature and extended his arm, so close to grabbing it before something caught his ankle Keith toppled forward. The little creature darted out of the room to safety; growling, Keith shifted a wing and peered down the line of his body to see that both Lance and Pidge had latched onto his leg.

It didn’t matter that his knees had felt likely to give out on their own; they’d stopped him in the middle of a hunt. They’d let that thing, whatever it had been, get away.

“No eating the space mice!” Pidge reprimanded.

Again, it was incredibly confusing because they didn’t even smell very angry, just surprised.

Keith shifted his wing so that the end of it smacked both of them in the face, until they let go of him. Pulling his knee to his chest, he peered down at his ankle. The skin was fine, unbroken. They hadn’t even left a mark on him. 

Red and black feathers were scattered everywhere and when Keith ran a hand over his right wing, he could feel how thin it was getting. The sick feeling in his stomach spread, until his fingers shook a little the longer he searched his wing with them.

Just as he’d thought, most of his flight feathers were gone. His heartbeat thundered, until it broke apart his thoughts with every pulse. They were _gone_ , they were falling, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

“Do you always shed this much?” Lance asked while he got to his feet. His heel caught on a particularly scarlet feather and he slipped, landing back on the ground with bruising force.

Pidge cackled, rolling back on the floor. When Keith glanced at the table, even Shiro was casually holding a hand over his mouth, trying to hide his amusement.

“Why are you laughing?” Keith asked, thoughts stuttering. Something was very wrong with his wings, wrong with him, and they were just . . . laughing.

“Because we definitely got that on camera, and I’m going to save the surveillance footage forever,” Pidge said, propping herself up on one arm. “Because it’s funny.”

They were all looking at him all over again and Keith felt the furrow between his brows deepen. That wasn’t exactly what he’d meant. He wanted to know why they were laughing, because they were supposed to be screaming at him, hurting him, hauling him off into some dark part of the ship where he could be forgotten. Not trying to feed him. Not trying to make him understand their jokes.

He wanted to break something, to see if it would shatter this charade. If he attacked one of them, maybe they would start acting the way they should have from the start. If they hurt him, Keith knew what to expect. Those were consequences he understood. He couldn’t predict _this_ , any of this, and that was what made it worse.

Keith hid his hands in his wings while he tried to steady himself.

“Are you alright? You did kind of hit the ground hard there,” Lance said, managing to successfully get to his feet this time before extending a hand to Keith. “There isn’t anything wrong with your wings, is there?”

Baring his teeth at the proffered hand, Keith stood on his own.

“Molting,” he finally admitted, drawing his wings close around him.

The scientists had been doing something with his wings, when he’d woken. Somehow they’d managed to accelerate the molting process, out of season. With his flight feathers gone, even if he managed to get outside, Keith couldn’t fly.

He couldn’t fly. _He couldn’t fly._

“Not to worry. We can clean all of that up faster than a war-blasting—”

“Thank you, Coran,” Shiro interrupted when Keith only felt increasingly uncomfortable.

His legs felt unsteady beneath him, so Keith growled before he even realized it was Hunk who approached him.

“You can’t eat the mice,” he said almost apologetically. “But I can bring you back to look at our supplies to see if there’s anything, uh, fresh enough that you think you might want to eat.”

A handful of minutes later, Keith was seated halfway inside of a refrigeration unit, with blood dripping down his chin and drying beneath his fingernails. It had only taken him a moment to sniff out the raw meat in Hunk’s supplies, though he didn’t know what planet it had come from, and his stomach was settling quite nicely from the meal.

“This is both horrifying and fascinating,” Pidge said from where she was perched on the counter, watching him.

Keith opened his mouth, showing off his bloodstained fangs, and she only laughed like it was also a joke. These humans were so . . . peculiar.

“You really shouldn’t have much more. You’ll make yourself sick,” Hunk said, though whenever he attempted to shut the door to the unit, Keith blocked the way with his foot.

Who knew when they might give him the chance to feed again?

“Alright, let’s go, bird boy. You’ve tormented Hunk enough. Look at this mess,” Lance said, gesturing across the floor of the storage area.

Blood spattered in careless splashes near Keith and there were fallen feathers trapped in the rivulets that had gotten away from him.

Keith swallowed down a last mouthful before reluctantly getting out of Hunk’s way. There hadn’t been any pain or poison or tricks, before this meal, so he thought he shouldn’t press his luck.

“There should not be many more feathers that fall,” Keith said, almost apologetically.

Lance gaped at him like he’d missed the point of something important.

“Let’s take Keith on a tour,” Pidge said, hopping off the counter. “A small one, anyway. I bet you want to get some sleep, right?”

As exhausted as Keith was, he thought it best not to drop his guard around these humans while on board their ship, so he shook his head.

None of the three looked like they believed him, but that wasn’t his problem.

They took him down several chrome-coated corridors, past endless amounts of doorways and other walkways, places where he could easily be turned around despite how Keith tried to memorize the ship’s layout. There were lounges and a training area that he was hastily steered away from once Lance pointed out that they couldn’t exactly lend him any weaponry. There were more supply closets and piles of tech that Pidge had pulled apart. Keith’s heels and his wings dragged the farther they walked, though whenever one of the Paladins looked his way he tried to look more menacing and less like he was half-asleep.

“We have a room for you to stay in,” Hunk said eventually. He looked mostly prepared to catch Keith if he ended up toppling over, and the politeness in his tone was annoying. “We’ll, uh, need to lock you in overnight, but . . .”

That was to be expected. But Hunk’s sentence trailed off when Keith looked past him. They must have come to one of the outer parts of the ship, because there was a window looking out over an endless stream of darkness, dotted with little pinpricks of light. It was like the night sky had become absolutely endless and when Keith pressed his nose against the glass he expected to see his home somewhere below them.

There was only more of that nothingness. No horizon, no break where the night resolved itself into whatever was on the ground. Whatever enemy city they hovered over.

“Where am I?” Keith demanded, whirling around. He hadn’t realized that the humans had come up so close behind him, until they jumped backward. “Where—where did you take me?”

“We didn’t know you were on board until after we made the jump,” Lance said, holding out his hands. The motion was supposed to be placating, which only increased Keith’s frustration. It was like they thought he should be calm about this. “This is, uh, why we have plenty of time to figure out your situation, because we can’t put you back right away. We’re in a different system.”

“System?” Keith repeated, narrowing his eyes before glancing through the glass again. That unsettled feeling in his stomach had returned. This felt like a trick. It had to be some kind of trick.

“I know you’ve never heard of Voltron, but we’re kind of a big deal out here in the universe,” Lance continued. “That means there are other people out here who need our help. After we fixed that communication system, we needed to go elsewhere, to other planets who needed us.”

“Other planets,” Keith muttered, rubbing his hand against the bandages on the back of his neck. The enemy had never brought in outside help, before. They’d certainly never had any interest in traveling outside of their own planet. It meant . . . That meant there was a chance these humans were telling the truth.

If this was real.

“Did we break him?” Hunk asked the others in a whisper that was loud enough to make Keith glare.

He’d never been in a shuttle that could breach the atmosphere before, let alone traveled this far. It was making his head hurt and he wanted to bite something, though apparently he was not allowed to hunt anything on the ship, which was disappointing.

“I think maybe we should all get some sleep,” Pidge suggested, though even her eyes were wide with confusion.

The room they took him to was . . . big. Clean, with every metal surface shining, a bed off to the right and his own bathing area in the back. There wasn’t much else in there, nothing that he could pick up and use against them. Again, there weren’t even any places for them to properly restrain him in there.

“We’ll see you in the morning? It’s sort of hard to tell time in space but we have the Castle running on a whole system that tries to get us attuned to the nearest planet’s day cycle. Kind of messes with your head, but you’ll get used to it,” Lance said cheerfully.

“Just so you don’t get any ideas about wandering around, this door is reinforced,” Pidge said, typing something into the datapad beside the door while Keith turned toward her. “I’ll unlock it for you in the morning. Sweet dreams!”

Then the door closed and when Keith pressed his hand against it, the smooth surface didn’t budge. There was another datapad on this side of the door but it flickered once before going completely dark. He slammed his hands against the door, again and again, palms stinging, but it didn’t so much as shudder. Ramming his shoulder into it only left him with new bruises, and he retreated to a corner of the room to gather his thoughts.

His wings would never fit through the vents. That meant there was one way in or out for him, and he couldn’t exactly pull apart the reinforced steel door with his bare hands. In the morning, he could strike. With a little rest, he could be better restored and able to fight.

He pulled the sheets from the bed, piling them instead in the corner that left him better able to surveil the door. It was a terrible mimicry of a nest but it would have to do, and was lightyears better than the accommodations he’d assumed he would be left with. The sheets, when he scented them, were clean. Fresh. As if someone had tried to make the room _nice_ for him.

Settling down, he curled his wings around himself and pulled his hands through the feathers, working out the loose ones. Keith fell asleep in the middle of grooming his wings, wrapped up in them and the sheets that smelled like humans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst is incoming, so . . . poor Keith??
> 
> Your comments are greatly appreciated!


	6. Takeoff

When the door slid open, it took Lance a moment to find Keith, because he’d been looking toward the bed. There was movement, a shifting of sheets and feathers as Keith lifted his head with a yawn that displayed his fangs. He looked completely different when he was relaxed. Strange, how the lines of Keith’s face softened when he was still half-asleep, purple eyes clouded with what Lance hoped hadn’t been nightmares. Keith blinked slowly, feathers ruffling, and then seemed all at once to remember where he was.

“Good morning,” Lance said cheerfully. “We’re here to spring you—”

The rest of his sentence dissolved in screeching. It took Lance a moment to realize he was the one screaming, as the winged alien lunged toward him with the same ferocity he’d shown toward the space mouse the night before.

“He’s gonna kill him! Keith’s gonna kill him!” Hunk shouted in the hallway.

“Bad Keith! We don’t hunt Lance, either!” Pidge reprimanded though she sounded, in Lance’s opinion, way too calm about all of this.

Lance turned to dodge out of the way but Keith caught him around the knees, bringing him down to the floor _hard_. Throwing out his hands to keep his head from bashing against the ground, Lance scrambled to put some distance between himself and the alien looming over him.

“We have to stop meeting this way,” Lance said, looking up toward Keith and arching an eyebrow. It was a little embarrassing that he’d managed to be tackled by the alien twice in two days but of course it wasn’t like he wanted to fight back and hurt the guy. Keith just didn’t really understand who he was dealing with, because Lance saying that he was a Paladin meant absolutely nothing in this situation.

Keith blinked again, more rapidly this time, and when he shook his head, his wings flared around him. Red, black, and grey feathers scattered to the corners of the room. When he leaned closer to Lance, those teeth were put away; otherwise Lance liked to think that Pidge and Hunk might have actually stepped in and, you know, saved him from the space monster.

“Oh. Thank you. That’s . . . great,” Lance squirmed uncomfortably as Keith leaned closer, nose nearly brushing against his neck.

As if he’d gotten or _smelled_ what he wanted, Keith sat back and folded his wings behind him.

“Good morning,” Keith said, as if this was the sort of thing that happened every morning on his planet.

“Don’t _good morning_ me, bird boy!” Lance protested, pulling himself to his feet so his pride couldn’t be wounded any more than it already had been. “What do you think you’re doing? What was that?”

He rubbed a hand against his neck. Sure, it hadn’t really hurt and it wasn’t like Keith had turned vampire or anything, but the sniffing was getting a little weird.

“Clearly it’s some evolutionary adaptation that helps Keith judge whether or not you’re an immediate threat,” Pidge said, then shrugged when the others glanced to her. “What? You didn’t think I’d stay up all night trying to figure out more about his species after he managed to sneak onboard? Besides, we locked him in a room overnight. I think this kind of reaction is a little warranted.”

Lance looked back toward Keith, who mimicked Pidge’s shrug. 

“You don’t smell like you’re going to kill me,” Keith said, and the tone he used made it clear he thought it was some kind of compliment. The furrow between his eyebrows had returned; his expression had hardened, steeled itself against them as it hadn’t been in sleep. “The enemy already knows how this works.”

“The Vidorians. Right,” Hunk said, leaning against the doorway. “And, uh, let’s pretend like we aren’t working with them, because we aren’t. Can’t you tell us everything about yourself that they’d already know?”

Keith was quiet for so long that Lance thought maybe the question had broken him.

“Okay,” Keith said. “I’ll tell you what they already know.”

Several hours later, it was clear that Keith would have preferred if he’d just refused outright to tell them anything. Pidge was trying to analyze how close Keith needed to be to something or someone to sniff out danger and kept trying to get him to describe how different emotions smelled to him. Hunk tried giving Keith back all of the feathers they’d swept up from around the ship and Keith looked at him like he had suddenly grown an extra head.

“Can you really use those to fly?” Lance asked, squinting skeptically at Keith’s wings as he crossed the lounge once again to try to escape from Pidge’s incessant questioning.

“Yes,” Keith answered. Just like every other time he’d responded to something he’d assumed the Paladins should already know about him, he looked slightly baffled. Eyebrows drawn, fangs poking out as he eyed Lance. “I’m molting.”

“You mentioned that yesterday,” Lance said, sitting down on the couch beside him so that Pidge would at least need to keep a little distance. Keith was fiddling with the translator on his ear, but when Lance reached over to stop him, the alien only hissed at him. Lance let his hand fall back into his lap. “Molting is a . . . bad thing?”

“It is now,” Keith said, shifting over to put another foot of space between him and the Paladin. “Not supposed to happen now, but the enemy did something, so now . . . I’m molting. Can’t fly.”

“Wait. Someone did this to you?” Hunk asked. He’d been stuffing scattered feathers into a vase, like some sort of absurd space flower arrangement. 

Keith only looked at them.

“Don’t you think if we were really in league with evil scientists we’d already know all about what they did to you?” Pidge asked, energy seeming to abruptly drain from her as she sat down on the floor. “We wouldn’t be . . . assuming this is _natural_.”

“So what you’re saying is, those creepy Vidorians trapped you in some secret lair, put that strangle collar on you, and then made it so that you couldn’t fly away?” Lance asked.

Keith nodded like—like it was something to have expected, as if he’d always been prepared to have the Vidorians capture and torture him.

Lance hardly knew Keith, and hadn’t really been much help on his planet with the whole communications system, but he was already regretting ever helping the Vidorians.

“Did they do anything else to you?” Hunk asked almost too quietly, almost like he wanted to help and desperately didn’t want to hear the answer, all at once.

The alien’s right hand jumped to the back of his neck, fingers digging into the bandages there, before he shrugged.

Right. Because they couldn’t be trusted, so it wouldn’t make any sense for Keith to tell them the exact ways in which the Paladins would be able to hurt him.

Lance leaned forward, elbows digging into his knees. “We can’t get back to your system, not yet, but—”

“But when we can,” Pidge interrupted, hands curled into fists. “We’re helping you. Who knows what the Vidorians are doing now that you’re gone?”

\- - -

Time went on, and on, and on.

There were visits to the infirmary so that Coran could check on Keith’s bandages. Once, he inspected his wings too, before asking so many questions that Keith, frustrated and overwhelmed, stormed out of the room.

There were more meals with the Paladins, where Keith tried not to spatter blood everywhere as he fed.

Allura introduced him to the mice, who had reasonably been terrified of him, so they could try to find some peace.

Sometimes the one called Shiro tried to corner him in one of the lounges or before he locked Keith into his room at night. He wanted to talk—no, Shiro wanted to listen. Saying over and over again, how Voltron was there to help, how they could make some kind of plan together if Keith would just trust them. He’d hold out his strange metal hand as some kind of alliance and never flinched when Keith inevitably turned his back on him. 

There was no reaction from the Paladins when they let Keith loose one morning, only to find that every fabric in his room had been shredded, the walls dented. They didn’t shout at him over the new bruises Coran had to treat because Keith had tried to muscle his way through the locked doors. They didn’t restrain him, whenever he smacked Lance with one of his wings, or tried running off down one of the corridors to get away from their constant supervision. He managed to lose them once and found the shuttle bay, but even then they didn’t seem annoyed with him. Maybe because Pidge had found him uselessly trying to boot up the console, not knowing how to fly the thing.

There was no way out and the Paladins wanted him to be okay with it.

Sometimes, they would lock him into his room during the day, but they would never tell him where they were going.

“To save the universe,” Lance would say, smile pulling at his lips while he pulled a pose he probably thought was dashing. Maybe if he’d had a set of wings, he would have looked more impressive.

They’d lock Keith inside of his room while they were gone, and sometimes the Castle would shudder around him like they were moving. Sometimes everything jumped and rattled, as if they were under attack. The Paladins who came to unlock the door would be battered, with dark smudges underneath their eyes. Coran would be busy patching _them_ up, and Keith would sit in a corner of the infirmary, watching. Or, more than once, he saw the healing pods being used, the ones that would never accommodate his wings.

Then he would find a window, with one of the Paladins trailing after him. If it was Shiro or Allura or even Hunk, they would be mostly silent. Pidge, he needed to watch, because she would probably try to prod or measure some part of him if he wasn’t on his guard. Lance, he never shut up. He’d lean against the window glass, nearly blocking it, and ask Keith which view was better.

Maybe it was most confusing that Lance would only laugh when Keith inevitably shoved him out of the way and that Keith was—he was getting used to it. He’d watch from the corner of his eye, waiting to see Lance’s lips turn upward, for all of the pieces of him to relax, the parts that had been tense during whatever unknown battle he’d gone through. When Lance laughed his eyes were like rippling water and his happiness made Keith tuck his wings a little closer to his back, blood thrilling uncomfortably.

Keith would look out at the darkness and endless stars. Sometimes he would see an unfamiliar planet there, or thought he saw another ship darting through space. The view was never the same; the stars were always changed. He knew they were moving, possibly farther from his home. Or maybe closer; it wasn’t like Keith knew anything about the layout of the universe.

It hurt his head to think about how large it all was, when his entire life had been focused on simply protecting his people from the enemy on his planet. What did it mean, that there were so many dangers out in the universe his kind didn’t even know about yet? He thought that the Paladins would explain some of it to him, if he asked. But asking would mean trusting their answers, so he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Instead he did as Shiro would have done for him: Keith listened. To what they said whenever he suggested they bring him back home. To the hints they dropped, whenever they were back from whatever fight they’d been in and thought he wasn’t paying any attention. It sounded like they were in some kind of war. It sounded like it wasn’t going very well.

It didn’t help Keith make a plan, or decide either way about them. But he thought that maybe he was beginning to understand.

\- - -

One night, when Keith was locked in his room and the Paladins were all asleep, the castle shuddered as if someone had grabbed it around the middle and violently shook it.

Jolted free of his nest, Keith hurried to get to his feet with sleep still half-clinging to him. The Castle shifted and everything he’d pilfered to make a better nest, the cushions from the lounge and blankets from the Paladins’ laundry, slid across the floor.

He stumbled over it all, across the room, and pushed against his door. It didn’t budge; the datapad beside it remained black.

In the hall, he heard loud footsteps and shouting, no, screaming—then something that sounded like weapons going off. More footsteps. Keith hit the door again, hoping that someone would hear him, that they would remember he was in there. He hoped they’d let him out. He hoped they hadn’t gone through all of this, these endless days filled with the Paladins being too nice, _strangely_ nice, for them to invite the enemy onto the ship now. Maybe they’d come to take him away. Maybe there was a new enemy out there, who’d found them.

He wanted the door to open, because it meant the Paladins hadn’t forgotten him.

He dreaded the door opening because anyone could have been out there, including the enemy. Those scientists who hadn’t been finished with him.

_The collar had been so tight around his neck. When he tried to growl, no sound came out. They were doing something to his wings._

His hands stung when he hit the door again and again and again. His knuckles bled, staining the floor red. The Paladins didn’t laugh at him anymore if some of the blood escaped him, when he was feeding. They hardly noticed; they were used to it.

_It had been such a perfect day, with the gray sky stretched out above him. Keith always looked at the sky as if he would never see it again, because each mission could be his last. But he’d never really believed it would be the last time he’d see the sky. If he had, he might have lingered a little while longer._

_He would have said a real goodbye, to his family._

_He would have—no, he_ should _have done more._

_The enemy had been too strong, and there’d been fire in that pretty, gray sky._

_They’d done something to his leg so he couldn’t run properly, and still he’d fought._

_There’d been gas in the air, choking him, and still he’d fought._

_There’d been so many of them, too many, so he’d fallen._

_How long had they kept him locked in their laboratory?_

Keith screamed, but the ship screamed too, and suddenly it felt like he was flying. No—floating. The gravity was gone for a moment, until it returned with a vengeance, heavy enough to slam him against the ground. The commotion in the corridor had quieted, no more screams or footsteps, so it was easy enough to hear the soft snap of metal as the translator clipped to his ear broke in half.

His head spun so violently that for a moment he couldn’t pull himself to his feet; he could only brace himself against the floor, hoping that the world would resolve itself into something that made sense. When he was finally able to stand, Keith held onto the wall for support. Two tiny pieces of metal glimmered by his feet.

Keith kicked away the pieces in frustration. He didn’t need to understand the humans’ language, anyway. No matter what was happening in the Castle, it was a betrayal. The Paladins were leaving him in that room to die. Or, at the very least, holding him there until the enemy could take him again, which was as good as death.

He wallowed in that realization for a moment, before he realized the datapad beside the door had turned green.

Gravity still felt a little off, but Keith pulled himself across the room. There were words on the screen, but he couldn’t read them. Suddenly with a burst of static, a voice came through, too. Shouting . . . something. He glanced back at the broken translator, ridiculously feeling guilty even though breaking this one was not at all his fault.

Keith poked the screen.

The door slid open.

He stepped out into the hall, cautious, but it was empty. There were no Paladins to greet him. For the first time since he’d hidden away in the shuttle, he was alone without a locked door keeping him away from freedom.

If he went right, he could run to the shuttle bay and try again to steal a ship. It didn’t matter where he was in the universe; he refused to be a captive again.

To his left, a single, incomprehensible word was shouted, until the Castle faded into quiet again.

_Lance?_

Keith made his decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, I decided to end in the middle of the action for once :D


	7. Copilot

Lance pressed back against the wall, rifle held at the ready. That last blast had been too close for comfort, singing a dark line against his thigh, but it hadn’t managed to pierce his armor. He didn’t plan on letting the Galra sentries get so close again. Well, he also hadn’t planned on getting pinned down in a corner, or getting separated from the other Paladins, or being awoken from his absolutely essential beauty rest by this assault.

Coran had mentioned the Castle’s defenses were a little wonky and drained after Voltron’s last mission, but he’d never mentioned the possibility that _evil things that wanted to kill them all_ would be able to track them down and get through their shields.

Metal rang out down the hall, loudly enough that there had to be more than one sentry out there. This would be easy. Just like a simulation, or like the dozens of missions Lance had already successfully completed. Take out the bad guy; don’t end up dead.

Closing his eyes, Lance focused on the noise of the sentries’ approach, counting down before he whipped away from the wall and into view. Sliding on his knees, he squeezed out a few shots. The first went wide, but the next two were solid aimed, hitting the sentries directly in their chests. They fell, purple fizzing along their metallic bodies as they collapsed to the ground.

It was unfortunate then that there were three of them.

The last sentry standing lifted his blaster and it was like a race against time, as Lance lifted his rifle and aimed. Fired. And lost.

The shot caught Lance in the ribs, knocking him backward down the hall. He didn’t realize he’d even shouted until the last echoes of his voice were dying down; the last thing he needed were more sentries to come running to finish him off.

It took a minute for the pain to hit. At first it felt only like the wind had been knocked out of him. Then it writhed to life, jagged and flaring like bolts of lightning burst from between his ribs. Each breath pulled uncomfortably at his torn skin. His heels scraped against the floor, as if his body thought he could escape the hurt if he could just _move_ and pull himself away from it.

When Lance finally managed to prop himself up on an elbow, his limbs were sluggish, slow to respond. Red dripped from his side, red like warning lights and sunsets and the brightest feathers on Keith’s wings, right where they connected with his back and made him distinctly inhuman.

There was a shadow spreading on the walls that looked like them, actually, flared and menacing. 

Lance’s thoughts spun, drawn tighter and tighter as if soon they would disappear completely into the whirlpool of his mind and he would be left with sheer nothingness, darkness, just him and the _pain_. Though he wasn’t sure of how he’d managed not to hear more approaching footsteps, he fumbled for his rifle. Then he tipped his head backward to see what new thing had come to kill him.

And it _was_ Keith. Which was impossible. Those unfurled wings and bared fangs, with a bruise forming on the side of his face and something wild caught in those vivid purple eyes. Keith, who should have been safe inside of his room until the Paladins had the Galra threat contained. Keith, who looked sort of beautiful when he was ready to kill something.

It took Lance a lazy, jumbled moment to realize Keith was stepping over him and not, like, tearing open his throat.

The last sentry was still fizzing on the ground, trying to climb back to his feet. With a shriek that sort of made Lance wish he’d passed out, Keith picked up the sentry and slammed it into the ground, over and over again. The lights on its armor dimmed and then went out, and still Keith didn’t let up until the thing was a pile of scrapable parts.

“Guess you’re not really good at the whole _silent_ killing thing,” Lance said, pulling himself up to sit in the middle of the hallway, arm curled around his midsection. “Just for the record, I totally could have handled that on my own.”

Keith stared down at the robotic parts littering the ground near his feet, then kicked one of the sentries’ heads off down the hallway.

“Yeah, let’s make more noise and let everyone know where we are. Keith, how’d you even get out of your room? Not that I’m not happy to see you,” Lance said.

Keith’s gaze snapped to him as soon as Lance said the alien’s nickname, but Keith didn’t bother to respond as he came over to crouch by Lance’s side. When he did open his mouth, the words that came out of it made . . . literally no sense. Keith’s expression flattened with impatience before he pointed to his ear. No translator.

“What, you broke another one?” Lance asked in disbelief. With a hand, Keith mimed rising into the air and slamming back down. “Oh, the gravity did go a little crazy there for a second, didn’t it? Comms are out too for a little bit, until Pidge gets that booted back up.”

Pausing, Lance coughed over his shoulder. With his hands preoccupied holding his insides, well, _inside_ , the blood he coughed up splattered against the ground. It sort of reminded Lance of how the kitchen had looked, after they’d found out about what Keith liked to eat. All of that scarlet smeared over metal, shining because of the overly bright overhead lights.

“That probably isn’t . . . great,” Lance admitted.

The noise that came from Keith’s throat sounded like impatience, or some aggressive form of concern, because he immediately reached for Lance’s hands. They struggled for a moment, as Lance tried in vain to smother his injury and Keith inevitably overpowered him. The incomprehensible words that came from Keith didn’t sound very kind, when he saw the wound in Lance’s side.

“Just a scratch,” Lance said dismissively, ignoring the hitch in his own lungs. “First we need to kick more Galra ass, then healing pod. Uh . . . Galra.” He pointed to the now decimated sentries. It was unsettling, how much damage Keith had been able to do with his bare hands. “Bad. Kill? Is any of this getting through to you?”

Keith, still watching Lance like he was an idiot while he _most certainly was not_ , reached over and punched the scattered remnants of a sentry leg. Then he looked at Lance as if to say _Is this what you want from me_

Lance nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I guess that works. Let’s go—”

Although he’d started to haul himself to his feet, Lance’s legs had other ideas about whether they were actually going to work. His heels slid out from under him and this time when he fell, though he managed to stay silent, darkness crept across his vision. It took a few long moments for his eyes to clear. 

Keith hissed at him when Lance tried to stand again, which was how Lance ended up half-draped in Keith’s arms, cradling his rifle as the winged alien strode down the hall.

\- - -

The weeks spent in the Castle-ship had given Keith back some of his strength and Lance wasn’t very heavy, so it was easy to carry him around. Still, the healing feathers near the back of his neck pricked uncomfortably. There was an unknown enemy out there in the Castle. Keith had no real weapon. And his hands were full, holding the Paladin. His chest felt oddly warm and sticky, where Lance’s side pressed against him. The human was injured. Already he looked so much paler than normal and was . . . quiet. Lance never stopped talking. Their inability to communicate hadn’t exactly kept him silent beforehand.

“Pidge should be up in the control room,” Lance said, trying to point the way for Keith with the end of his rifle.

_Pidge_ was one word Keith could identify. The little one who liked poking him and trying to steal his feathers. She might be in a place that was safe from the Paladins’ enemy, and maybe she could help with the whole communication issue. Stomach twisting, Keith wished that he’d brought the broken pieces of the translator with him instead of possibly damaging them further by kicking them across the room. 

Sometimes his temper wasn’t exactly what a situation called for but he wouldn’t admit that aloud, not even when no one else was going to understand him.

He faltered, when Lance’s directions pointed him down a corridor the Paladins hadn’t allowed Keith in, to the point where Shiro had actually gotten angry, for once, when Keith tried to dodge around them to see what was down there. Maybe those rules didn’t count anymore now that there were strange things in the Castle that definitely weren’t from Keith’s home planet. There was still the cold trickle of relief in his veins, thin as a layer of ice, from seeing that this enemy probably belonged only to the Paladins. Those robotic things hadn’t come for Keith. They hadn’t come to take him away, to take him back _there_.

He also faltered because if he went right instead, they would end up at the infirmary.

And Lance was so pale, and quiet. His breath hitched whenever Keith stepped forward, the shifting of his hips jostling the Paladin enough to jar his side. Those stuttered little breaths spoke of pain, something essential that was hurt, but . . . Keith was no medic. He couldn’t fix this.

_He couldn’t fix this. There was fire in the sky and people were screaming—innocent people, his people. Blood and feathers littered the ground and he knew that the mission had failed. He knew that he would die trying to take a few of the enemy down with him. There were glassy eyes staring up toward that flame-streaked sky and he would join them, soon. He would fly with them, soon._

Keith hadn’t even been able to properly die.

He turned down the corridor toward the infirmary.

“Keith! Where are you going? We need to go that way!” Lance insisted, but when he twisted to gesture toward the other hallway, it must have pulled his side. For a moment, a few heartbeats, he was silent. Jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth, fingers twitching, as he waited out the pain.

Keith waited until that terrible look was off Lance’s face before he hissed at him so Lance would shut up.

“The other Paladins would kill me if I let you die,” Keith said, pausing when their path intersected another hall so he could glance around the corner and make sure nothing else was immediately coming to kill him. “You can go bleed all over the infirmary instead of all over your friends.”

Really, Lance needed a healing pod, but trapping him inside of one while the enemy stalked the Castle-ship didn’t seem like the best idea. With gravity misbehaving and Keith’s door lock disengaging . . . anything could have happened to the pod tech. Lance had never hurt him, so Keith wasn’t going to stuff him into a pod and leave him there to die.

When he glanced down, Keith’s mouth felt uncomfortably dry. Lance was still looking at him, but it was like—like he’d forgotten why he couldn’t understand Keith, and there was a little furrow growing between his eyebrows. The grip he had on his rifle had loosened and he was no longer looking down the hall, sighting any possible danger. Almost like he’d forgotten what he’d been doing.

Keith walked faster.

The increased pace had the adverse effect of moving Lance more roughly. A little whine started, in the back of Lance’s throat, as if the pain had nowhere else to go, only _out_. There was so much blood, and Keith’s arms were beginning to shake, until he was nearly running down empty metal corridors and barely looking ahead to see—

He hurtled into the infirmary just as two more of those metallic _things_ entered the corridor ahead of them. Maybe he’d gotten inside before they’d noticed. Maybe they wouldn’t notice the door hissing shut behind Keith.

He held Lance there, immobile for a long minute, then another, as those ringing footsteps passed by the infirmary door and then off down the hall.

When he laid Lance out on one of the beds, the Paladin made that face again—all pain, nothing less, but enough strength left to keep himself quiet. It was almost worse, for Lance to be eerily quiet, apart from that little choking noise in the back of his throat.

“Okay,” Lance breathed. In, out. “Get behind me, Keith. I’ve got . . . I can still take them.”

Keith cocked his head to the side, uncertain of what Lance was saying, those his words were oddly slurred. It was impossible to miss the meaning, though, when he lifted his rifle and aimed it toward the closed door.

Really, Keith knew that he should let Lance continue to make stupid decisions, because what did it matter to him if the human ended up dead because of his own mistake? It didn’t—it shouldn’t—it couldn’t matter.

He’d been in the infirmary enough times with Coran to know where everything was and the basics of how to use it. First, he needed to keep Lance from bleeding out. Flinging open cabinets, Keith pulled out gauze and packed it into Lance’s wound, growling at the paladin when he tried to squirm away.

“Hold that there,” Keith demanded, growl deepening when he realized nothing he said would make much of a difference when they weren’t speaking the same language. Reaching across Lance, one hand still firmly on the human’s wounded side, Keith pulled the rifle from his hands. There were streaks of scarlet tracked across the blue and white.

“Hold, here. Tight,” Keith said, grabbing Lance’s hand and pressing his palm down on the wound until the human’s face was creased with pain again.

That was good. It was the hurt that meant he was still alive; once the pain was gone, that’s when Keith would start to worry. Well, he would only worry because the other Paladins wouldn’t want anything to happen to Lance. And because the Paladins had been kinder, much kinder, than the enemy.

“Hey, you can’t take that—” Lance protested weakly, though beneath the force of Keith’s glare the Paladin kept his hands tightly pressed against his side.

There were rattling footsteps in the hallway. Lance was quiet, apart from the unsteady rattle of his breathing. Keith lifted the rifle to inspect it, because he’d never used anything like it, but maybe if he could just hit the enemy over the head with it—

There was a flash of silver-tinged white light in his hand, before the rifle he was holding began to . . . change.

Keith glanced over his shoulder toward Lance, who was staring at him, wide-eyed, and then glancing down at the wound in his side as if thinking _Am I just hallucinating from the blood loss?_

The rifle was gone. Instead, Keith gripped a blue and white sword. 

Maybe this was some kind of new technology from Pidge.

Keith hefted it, baring his fangs. It was nicely balanced and would do _much_ better for head-bashing. Maybe it was time to let out some of that anger and frustration he’d been feeling not just for the past few weeks, but for years.

The infirmary door slid open and he charged at the sentries who came through. Wings flared, snarling, ready to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I write all of this so that Keith would have to carry Lance? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	8. Departure

“Hunk, a little space, please?” Pidge asked—well, demanded—before lifting her leg so she could nudge her friend away with her foot. Her hands were occupied, shifting between a few different screens as she fought with the Castle system.

Coran, over at the main control panel, was having just as much difficulty on his end. Intermittently crying over the flickering panels and comparing the Galra raid to a rotating number of presumably rude creatures, his progress had been fairly slow as well.

“Gravity feels pretty stable now. We just need to redirect some of the power back to the comms and the cameras,” Pidge said, because talking through it aloud would keep Hunk from chewing all of his fingernails off and it would steady her a little better. She’d already wasted a few minutes letting Keith out of his room. She figured the least they could do for him meant not trapping him in a small space until the Galra sentries came to kill him.

“Okay. Try the comms again, Coran!” Pidge shouted over her shoulder, while Hunk darted across the room to hover nervously by the Altaen instead.

“Number One! Can you hear me?” Coran shouted, prodding a button on the control panel.

Pidge stiffened, while the communicator in her ear buzzed and Coran’s voice rattled around her head. It felt sort of like he’d just shouted directly into her brain.

“Volume’s a little off,” she sighed, rubbing a hand against her forehead, feeling the headache threatening to start there, before she went back to fine-tuning their communications channel.

“Uh, we hear you, Coran,” Shiro’s voice came through at a much more reasonable volume. “Loud, and . . . very loud.”

“That should be better, now. I’m not going to apologize for any issues that occur while I try to fix tech under high-pressure situations,” Pidge said. Though she was beginning to think that maybe she needed to break the Castle more often, so she could time herself on how long it would take to reconfigure the system and make sure they weren’t all going to end up dead because of Galra invaders.

They’d all been a little too sure that they were always safe on the Castle-ship.

“You did a wonderful job, Pidge. Thank you,” Allura said, though her voice was strained. Through the link, heavy breathing and screeching metal filled the line.

“Princess, are you alright?” Coran demanded, face pressed closer to the control panel, as if he could crawl through the wires and pull her back up to a safer location.

“Just a few sentries,” Shiro said. “We’ve been sweeping the ship, but there’s too much ground to cover and we don’t know how many of them made it on. Have you heard from Lance?”

“He isn’t with you?” Hunk demanded, hands pressed to the sides of his head. “You all split up? You _know_ what happens in _every_ movie once the main characters split up! You weren’t away from Earth long enough to forget that, Shiro!”

“We were separated, Hunk,” Shiro said while Coran shot Hunk a puzzled look. “Last I saw, Lance was doing just fine holding his own. We have the advantage, here. We know the territory. But we need a way to track him down.”

“Well,” Pidge spoke up hesitantly, focused on her keyboard rather than the heads swiveling toward her. It would probably be best to mention they had another potential ally out in those halls, before someone accidentally ended up shooting him. “Keith is out there somewhere, too.”

“Keith?” Coran repeated with surprise. “But he’s been contained—”

“In the room we keep locking him in, I know. But he’s been with us for a few movements and doesn’t seem interested in hurting any of us. Haven’t you all seen that he just seems to want to get _away_? I can’t think of any Galra sympathizer who wouldn’t have taken advantage of being inside the Castle-ship for this long—”

“Do you think—unless—” Hunk spoke up hesitantly, and it looked like he was going to start biting those nails any minute. “The Galra never made it inside the ship before he was here.”

“ _We_ couldn’t even get an outside line after that last battle,” Pidge said, rubbing her eye and accidentally smudging her glasses. “Do you think Keith has really been smuggling some interstellar communications device?”

Before the others could say anything, she waved her hand through the air as if clearing it, because she hadn’t really been looking for anyone to answer that question.

“Besides, it doesn’t matter. I have better proof that he didn’t exactly want the Galra in here,” Pidge said, pressing another button on her keyboard.

“Excuse me, but would you all mind letting us know what is happening up there? We’re rather busy,” Allura said. “Are we meant to consider Keith a threat, or not?”

Right. Allura and Shiro didn’t have access to the same systems they had in the control room, so Pidge’s dramatic flourish wouldn’t be as effective.

“I’ve got the cameras back up and running,” Pidge said cheerfully. “Not only that, but I’m running a program to track movement so we can see where exactly the sentries are. I can guide you both to exactly where you need to be.”

“This is . . . That’s—” Hunk started.

“Keith,” Pidge nodded smugly. Cracking her knuckles, she glanced at the fight she’d projected on the largest screen before getting back to work. After all, there were other Galra sentries out there to track down, so there was no time for her to relish in being right about Keith’s current loyalties.

\- - -

The first sentry only made it halfway through the door before Keith stabbed it through the chest. Using that forward momentum, he pushed both it and the one behind it out into the hallway. Behind him, Lance let out some kind of weak cheer.

It was oddly encouraging.

He planted his foot on the sentry’s chest, pulling the sword free from the metal while his wing flared, knocking the other one against the wall. Its head _dinged_ against the tile, but the impact didn’t leave much more than a scratch. Tilting his head to the side, Keith eyed the weapon the sentry drew and barely had enough sense to throw himself to the ground, wings tucked in tight on his back. The sentry fired and though the weapon design was different, Keith knew it was meant to kill or at least incapacitate him, like they’d done to Lance.

The sentry’s blaster, Lance’s rifle, the guns the enemy carried—they were all the same. Whether they were used to hurt people or to defend them, they could cause so much damage.

Keith couldn’t say that he was any better. The sentries weren’t leaving any blood on his hands but that didn’t mean they’d been clean to begin with.

Shifting, he swung his leg toward the sentry to knock it off balance before stabbing it near the thigh, dragging it closer to the ground. The sentry’s metal casing was too tough for claws or teeth, so Keith stabbed into it, over and over again with Lance’s weapon until the purple sparks faded and the metal was cold beneath his hands.

The hallway was quiet, which gave Keith a moment to think. Through the infirmary door he could still see Lance, laid out on a bed. Where were the other humans? Didn’t they realize that this one needed their help? They had to care. Keith had seen the way they interacted with one another. Hunk was always wrapping someone up in a too-strong hug, or trying to feed them more food. Lance was always trying to make the others laugh. Shiro always offering to _listen_. Even the ones who weren’t exactly human—Allura and Coran, they all interacted like they were some weird, disjointed space family.

So it pissed Keith off, that they’d let Lance wander off to die.

A blaster shot nearly singed the feathers of one wing and Keith flattered himself against a wall. There were more sentries coming, marching steadily toward him, probably drawn in by all of the noise he’d been making. That settled it for Keith. He couldn’t go wandering off to try to find another human to help Lance, because then one of the enemy could get through to the infirmary in the meantime.

Keith shook out his arms, flexing his grip on the sword. Though he felt a little rusty after a few weeks without training, regaining his strength, this was the sort of thing he could usually do in his sleep. Actually, he’d practiced harder maneuvers blindfolded. This was literally the sort of challenge he lived for.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Keith grinned, and his fangs poked free.

Racing down the hall, he kept his wings tucked close around him, zigzagging to avoid blaster shots until he was close enough to strike. There was beauty in finding the perfect way to kill something. Taking his natural hunting instincts and turning them into something useful. Against a new enemy, yes, but anything that wanted to kill him pretty much fought in the same way.

Ducking beneath the first sentry’s guard, Keith threaded between bodies and sliced through metal. His wings unbalanced their feet, or knocked blasters from their hands. Jagged metal scratched his forearm; a glancing blow he blocked too slowly took his breath away. But sentries were falling and his blood was pounding, faster and faster through his veins. A steady, speeding rhythm he used while he dodged and struck and _won_ and—

The last sentry fell, cooling at his feet, and when Keith heard another noise behind him, he was already snarling.

It was only two of the Paladins, Shiro and Allura, and they looked . . . surprised. Keith didn’t know whether to be indignant about that. But they didn’t raise their weapons against him, so he lowered his sword.

“We came to offer our assistance, but it appears as though you were doing quite fine on your own,” Allura said, beaming at him when she’d regained her composure. “Well done, Keith.”

Shiro opened his mouth to say something as well, but Keith shook his head before he could begin. Tucking his hair beneath his ear, he gestured to it wordlessly. No translator.

“You broke it again?” Shiro asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Keith could guess at what he was saying and if that look was meant to make him feel bad about doing something that _hadn’t been his fault_ , it wasn’t working. They were both staring at him and Allura was smiling, which meant they probably weren’t trying to work out how to shove him back into his room.

“Lance,” Keith said, figuring that at least had to get through to the Paladins. Saying his name felt odd, as if when he had the translator on he could say something else and have it come out as _Lance_.

“You know where Lance is? Pidge, I think we have a location—Keith! Wait!”

Allura’s voice rang out after him as Keith hurried down the hall, bare feet hopping over scattered robot parts and dried bloodstains. Wings flared, he traveled a little farther, a little faster, each time he propelled himself forward into the air. He caught himself on the infirmary doorframe, hurrying inside.

“Lance?”

The human was so still, so quiet. Hands pressed tightly to his side, just as Keith had left them. Lance’s eyes were closed, brow drawn tight as small shiver of pain or cold crawled down his arms. He didn’t flinch at Keith’s voice, or when he came over to touch the sweat-slicked curve of Lance’s cheek. There was blood reddening his lips, and it would have been a beautiful sight if it hadn’t been Lance’s.

Allura and Shiro hadn’t been far behind.

“Hunk, clear us a path to a healing pod,” Allura said hurriedly, but Keith didn’t know what they were saying, or how they could help.

When Shiro reached for Lance, Keith hissed, hand dropping from Lance’s cheek to tighten on his collar instead. 

“Keith, I know you can’t understand me right now. But we’re going to take care of Lance,” Shiro said, holding out his hand tentatively, like he’d done a dozen times beforehand. “You need to trust us.”

Keith didn’t try to parse through the jumble of Shiro’s words, but he could understand his tone. Low and calm, steady like he was trying not to scare Keith away. More than that, he could smell the determination rolling off of Shiro, and the panic. The infirmary didn’t smell like anger; it stank of fear.

Keith nodded, stepping aside to let the Paladins take Lance out of the room.

\- - -

“Keith, buddy, we just need you to sit still for, like, two seconds,” Hunk said, holding out his hands placatingly without getting _too_ close. He didn’t want the alien to snap and bite any of his fingers off.

Most of the Paladins were gathered in the pod room, plus Keith, waiting for Lance’s time in the pod to run out. It had been pretty easy, taking down the last few sentries once Pidge had the cameras up and running. They weren’t exactly smart enough to go into hiding once Hunk started charging down the halls. When Coran had restored the shields, that had practically blasted away the shuttle that had gotten through their defenses, which hadn’t been a pretty sight.

“Is he alright?” Hunk asked Pidge, while Keith glared at them. His feathers were ruffled, puffed up like he was prepared to fight them, too. “Dude, are you alright?”

“Hunk, I haven’t even turned on the translator yet. Stop harassing him,” Pidge said, though she did use Hunk’s help to practically force Keith to take a seat.

Ever since they’d put Lance into one of the healing pods, Keith hadn’t stopped pacing. He had this strange look on his face that Hunk couldn’t quite identify, and more than once he’d caught the alien looking at the Paladins from the corner of his eye when he thought no one was watching him. It wasn’t because he was injured; despite the large smear of blood across his chest, there was only a scratch on Keith’s arm and some new bruises on his face. A few new feathers were loose, maybe. He hadn’t been shedding as much in the past week, but more grey and black and red had littered the floor.

“Okay, here—Hunk, hold him still,” Pidge said, leaning closer to Keith with the translator. The alien kept turning his head to look at it, instead of letting the Paladin hook it over his ear. When Hunk reached for him, Keith hissed, but his irritation seemed half-hearted at best.

“Hello? Paladins to Keith, do you read me?” Pidge asked once the translator was settled into place.

“I’m not reading anything. You’re speaking to me. You didn’t write anything down,” Keith grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “This time, it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t break it.”

“Keith’s back!” Hunk shouted over his shoulder and saw Shiro give them a thumbs-up. Hunk’s arms twitched a little, because his first instinct was to grab Keith into some kind of group hug because . . . well, he looked like he needed it. Keith still had that strange look on his face, like he was trying to figure out something about the Paladins or maybe something about himself, and Hunk had a feeling that Keith would never talk about it out loud because that would mean trusting the Paladins.

Hunk felt a little bad, about assuming Keith had been the one to lead the Galra to the Castle-ship. To be fair, the Galra were exceptionally scary, and so was Keith.

“You looked so cool back there, Keith. We caught you on the cameras, when the Galra were all, _we’re going to kill you_ and you were all _no way, I’m going to chop your heads off_!” Hunk said, miming the motions as if his arm was a sword.

Pidge peered over toward him for a moment, then nodded emphatically. “It was pretty impressive. You definitely bought us the time that we needed to save Lance,” she said. “Maybe you decided that you don’t hate us, after all?”

Keith grumbled something under his breath that Hunk wasn’t sure they were meant to understand even with the translator. “I knew you’d all be angry if he died.”

“Yeah, uh-huh, okay. That just proves you care about us, too,” Hunk said, physically making himself step back because it was getting _very hard_ not to officially welcome Keith as part of the whole Team Voltron intergalactic alliance thing. “Keith cares! He—”

One of Keith’s wings flicked upward, forming a wall between the two of them so that Hunk couldn’t see the alien anymore.

“Okay, ignore Hunk,” Pidge requested, partially hidden from view as well.

Hunk considered that extremely unfair, because Pidge had wormed herself close to Keith to put on the translator and hadn’t moved away again, afterward. But Keith wasn’t shoving any wings in her face.

“More importantly, we need to discuss Lance’s bayard. The sword you were using,” Pidge clarified, when Keith’s baffled expression only deepened. Hunk only saw this because he was slowly edging to the right, to get around the feathered barrier. “How did you get it to change like that?”

Keith shrugged, arms still locked tight against his chest. “I thought about how much easier it would be to fight those—those things that were trying to kill us, if I had a weapon I was more familiar with. Then it shifted into the sword. I don’t know. You made it, Pidge.”

“Actually, Lance’s bayard is something . . . different,” Allura interjected.

Keith’s wing twitched, then lowered. Shiro and Allura had come over to hear his answer as well. Hunk only breathed a sigh of relief because now he’d have less straining to do to see around Keith’s wing.

“Pidge didn’t make it?” Keith asked uncertainly, glancing toward the Green Paladin.

“No, but your unwavering faith in my technological capability is very refreshing,” Pidge said cheerfully. 

“The bayards are something much older and they don’t respond like that to just anyone. Particularly someone who does not even know what they are,” Allura said. “It’s possible that it helped because you were using it as a weapon to defend the Paladin it belonged to. Perhaps if we saw that you could do it again, under different circumstances—”

There was a shrill _beep_ from the closest healing pod, and Hunk broke away from the others, rushing over to it.

“Lance is ready to come out!” Hunk glanced over his shoulder with a grin, as the other Paladins crowded close behind him. “Come on, come on—”

With a hiss, the pod opened and released a white cloud of mist, as well as the Blue Paladin. Lance stumbled forward, managing to catch himself for a few steps before he collapsed into Hunk’s arms.

“Hey, bud. You really scared us there for a second. Don’t do that again,” Hunk said, trying to sound stern but it didn’t work because he was so relieved. 

The Paladins were always risking their lives. But when Pidge had said she’d found Lance on the cameras—that she hadn’t been able to at first, because she was only tracking movement, and he was so _still_ in the infirmary . . . Hunk had felt numb. As if his body had only allowed him to feel that sharp spike in anxiety and panic and fear for a moment before shutting down. He never wanted a reason to feel that way again.

Lance lifted his head, giving them a smirk that was too tired around the edges.

“Hey, I could have totally taken them all. It was just a lucky shot. I didn’t even really need . . .” Lance blinked slowly, icy eyes still a little unfocused. “Where’s Keith?”

Hunk glanced over his shoulder. There were a few black feathers on the ground, but Keith was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you all for reading! your comments make me so happy!


	9. Landing

Space was this massive expanse of stars and planets dotting black nothingness, filling the void between Keith and his home. He wondered how far they were from his planet and if the Paladins’ enemy would eventually turn their attention to his home as well. There was no way of knowing, from simply looking at the stars, all of the violence and unrest that had spilled out into the universe. 

Keith pressed his hand against the glass in front of him, leaving behind little smudged fingerprints over the view. Through the Castle-ship window, space was still, peaceful and beautiful. There were no fighters rushing toward them; they weren’t even close enough to see the details of any nearby planet. It felt wrong, almost, to look out over the calm darkness and try to find some of that within himself, while his people were undoubtedly suffering.

Most likely they assumed he was dead. Even if someone had seen him taken, if the Paladins hadn’t arrived, there would have been no rescue coming for Keith. They simply didn’t have the resources to waste on one being who probably wouldn’t last long in the enemy’s grasp.

Turning his head, half over his shoulder, Keith sniffed the air. Uncertainty, and concern, with a strange metallic undertone. Then there were footsteps, loud enough that it was obvious they purposefully walked so that he would hear their approach. The Paladins were always so careful not to startle Keith; they never made the same mistake twice, after they first realized when something set him on edge.

“I was hoping that I’d find you here,” Shiro said, stopping a few feet away from Keith.

His fingers curled, nails scraping against the glass. This was in no way the first time he’d come up to this room; Pidge and Lance had shown it to him, after they’d caught Keith staring too long through the windows in the Castle’s halls. This was some kind of map room, barely used, with enormous, unbroken views that reached high above Keith’s head and then outward, stretching beyond his wingspan. If he leaned close, he could almost shut out the Castle behind him, and pretend that he . . . actually had some control over his life. That he was going home.

He’d never said that aloud, and never would. This was the first time he’d come here unaccompanied, without a Paladin shadowing his footsteps. Keith’s wings curled tight against his back. Shiro had probably come to take him back to his room, but he didn’t even smell angry, and that was . . . confusing.

“Did you need something?” Keith asked. He certainly wasn’t going to offer to walk willingly back into the room they’d been keeping him in. What if the Galra returned, and this time the locks remained engaged? He’d be forced to sit there, waiting for something to come and kill him.

_He’d pulled at the restraints keeping his wrists and ankles pinned to the metal beneath him. He could hardly move, but his chest heaved as he waited to see what terrible thing they would do to him._

Hand flexing, he turned his back on the window so he could keep a better eye on Shiro. Keith wished he’d kept Lance’s weapon with him, but he’d left it somewhere in the infirmary. His thoughts hadn’t been so calm since the—the battle on his home planet, since he’d _lost_ , as they’d been when he’d had that sword in his hand.

“Yes, actually,” Shiro said, sitting down on the metal floor. He moved stiffly, as if he was so tired that his limbs no longer wanted to cooperate. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Keith was silent, arms folded tight across his chest, wings hugging his back. A living embodiment of that tense moment of waiting, held breath, before the other punch could land.

“You should sit, if you want. You can’t really enjoy the view with your back to it,” Shiro said, looking past Keith to the stars. Still, Keith saw the little quirk in Shiro’s lips, as if he found something about the alien’s stubborn attitude amusing. “I don’t know how much the others have told you about our home planet. Earth. But I used to sneak away to look at the stars, too. Dreamed of reaching them one day.”

That odd smile turned a little wry, while Keith frowned.

“I was _not_ sneaking away. I left the room, and no one chose to follow me. It isn’t my fault that you cannot keep track of your own prisoner,” Keith scowled. 

The Paladins weren’t like the enemy in so many ways, but—maybe they could be. They could tie him down or clip his wings; they could do whatever they liked to keep him from wandering off again, because they outnumbered him and he’d been _stupid_ enough to leave the only weapon he’d gotten behind just because Lance had been—had been dying.

Shiro tapped his fingers against the floor beside him—the ones from his flesh and blood hand, so the noise was so soft it could have been a whisper. 

“You saved Lance’s life back there, Keith. Instead of running to the shuttle bay, or using the invasion as a chance to hurt us, you helped. If you hadn’t stepped in, we might not have made it to him in time,” Shiro said. “No one followed you because we can’t think of you as a prisoner anymore, not after what you did for Lance. Actually, I think most of the others came to that conclusion before now. But they’re with you so much because they like spending time with you. Even if you’re a little . . .”

When Shiro’s gaze slid over to Keith, he stiffened, but Shiro only raised an eyebrow as if Keith had just proven a point for him.

“You might not trust us, Keith, but we have to trust you. Those sentries you killed are Galra. They’re our enemy. We’ve been working to defend the universe against the beings who created them. You helped us defend ourselves,” Shiro shrugged, leaning back on one hand. That strange smile was back. “Maybe that means you trust us a little bit.”

Keith rumbled, deep in his throat, trying to think of a way to refute that. He hated the Paladins. He wanted to leave them. He hated _Shiro_ , and wanted him to leave. The stupid Paladin, with his stupid calming scent and that look on his face like he was ready and waiting for Keith to break. Not because they were hurting him, experimenting on him, torturing him—because they were being . . . kind.

Keith bared his fangs at Shiro and then sat down in front of the window, facing him.

“I thought you had brought the enemy onto your ship to take me away,” he said, picking at a loose feather on one of his wings. “But then I saw them trying to kill Lance.”

And Lance, _with a giant gaping hole in his side_ , lifting his rifle and trying to defend the infirmary, to save . . . both of them.

“I know how difficult it is to know who to trust after you’ve been hurt,” Shiro said after a moment. “I was a prisoner, once. The Galra took so much from me. My freedom. My friends. My arm.”

They both glanced over toward his prosthetic arm, as if the pain and the loss and the _recovery_ , that time afterward when you couldn’t quite draw in a deep enough breath or settle your thoughts or hear anything beyond your overworked heartbeat, was a black hole drawing them in.

Keith had asked Pidge once, _Why is Shiro’s arm gray?_ She’d said it had been from something bad, something Shiro didn’t really like to talk about. She’d said that he and Keith probably had a lot in common.

“After I escaped, I didn’t know who wanted to hurt me. The Galra are spread across the universe. They have allies everywhere. They’re powerful, and strong, and I was always so afraid that they would find a way to take me back,” Shiro said.

It was difficult to imagine, because Keith had seen the way the other Paladins always looked up to Shiro. Like he was the strongest. Like he was unstoppable.

“Eventually I had to realize that I couldn’t take down the Galra on my own. I needed to have allies. I needed to have _trust_. It’s a little scary, knowing that you’re putting your life in someone else’s hands. But it helps to know you aren’t alone out there in the universe. That there are people who can help you take down the enemy, if you only let them know how they can help,” Shiro said.

Keith leaned his head back against the window, against the whole of the universe stretched out behind him. When he eyed Shiro, his eyes narrowed, but it was less with frustration and more calculating. 

“You would help me save my people?” Keith asked. “Even if they aren’t threatened by the Galra?”

“We’re supposed to be defending the universe,” Shiro said. “If your people need us, that means we’re going to be there for them. It would help, though, if we had someone who could explain the situation to us. Maybe help us understand the people who are in danger and what exactly is being done to them. If only we had someone who could get us that kind of information.”

Keith rolled his eyes back and when he heard Shiro snort, trying to contain his amusement Keith’s reaction, the alien’s lips twitched.

“Alright,” Keith said finally and when he felt like he could look at Shiro without feeling that familiar rush of panic that often made him so quick to snap at the Paladins, he nodded. “Alright. You’ve . . . You’ve helped other planets, before?”

“There’s still a lot of work to be done, but we’ve seen so many. There was one, somewhere over there, where we needed to destroy a Galra base. They were terrorizing innocent people, civilians, and they needed to be stopped,” Shiro said, pointing over Keith’s shoulder, off somewhere in that sea of darkness.

Shiro continued his story, something about an overgrown planet and imminent danger, and Keith uncrossed his arms. Waiting until Shiro glanced away, trying to remember the details of a particularly horrible encounter, Keith shifted so that he could sit next to the Paladin, looking out over the swath of space before them.

It was just so he could understand the context of the story.

But Keith saw Shiro look at him out of the corner of his eye, though the cadence of his story never faltered, and he didn’t mind whenever Keith interrupted with a question. About what the people of the planet looked like and what they’d needed, and how Voltron had helped. Even though Shiro had always offered to listen to Keith, it was the alien who sat quietly while Shiro told him about planets filled with creatures who looked nothing like the Paladins, about planets with threats that had nothing to do with the Galra. About how Voltron did their best to save them all.

\- - -

It was either very late or very early when Keith walked back to his room. There was only the thump of his bare feet and _swish_ of feathers against the floor to accompany him through the halls. Shiro had remained behind, insisting that Keith wouldn’t need an escort around the Castle-ship anymore. Not unless he wanted one.

There was someone slumped against his door.

Keith saw the blue and white, almost as soon as he registered the presence, so he managed to refrain from any overly hostile reaction to Lance.

“What are you doing? You should be resting,” Keith said, annoyed, as he glanced from the shadows beneath Lance’s eyes down to the odd things he wore on his feet. They looked like soft shoes, with oddly shaped faces on the front of them.

“You like my slippers? I could get you a pair,” Lance said, shaking a foot in Keith’s direction until the alien’s feathers puffed up with annoyance. “I _was_ asleep, but it’s hard to rest after you’ve been in a pod for a while. When you’re in there, it’s sort of like sleeping, except you don’t wake up refreshed at all. My sleep schedule is going to be all out of sorts and my skin is not going to thank me for it, but . . . I did need to come to thank you.”

_To thank you._ Lance— _Lance_ was there, to thank him, when not so long ago, Lance had been mostly dead. The blood dripping from his wound had been so warm, so red, and Keith’s heart had jumped every time he’d glanced down at Lance, certain that his eyes would be closed. Certain that his heart would stop.

“Okay,” Keith said reluctantly, because he was trying to practice being a little nicer to the Paladins, if they were going to help him. But really all he wanted to do was yell at Lance. “You’re welcome.”

They stared at each other, until a yawn pulled at Lance’s mouth.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in? That isn’t all I wanted to talk about, and I _did_ almost die today. So,” Lance said, voice trailing of into nothingness as Keith continued to watch him.

First Shiro had acted strangely, pretending like the Paladins weren’t going to be keeping watch over Keith any longer and promising aid to Keith’s people. Now Lance wanted to come into his room—which no one else had entered while he’d been there, one of the more surprising things about his time on the Castle-ship.

“Okay,” Keith said again, voice tight, before he let them both in the room.

“Although I do love what you’ve done with the place it’s slightly depressing in here,” Lance said once he’d stepped over the threshold.

Keith frowned. The room was almost completely bare, but it wasn’t like he’d been able to bring any belongings with him while he’d been _escaping from the enemy’s laboratory_. There was a set of drawers where he’d stored the clothing the humans had allowed him to keep. There was the bare mattress. And in the corner, facing the door, his makeshift nest. Keith toed a few stray feathers beneath the edge of the nearest blanket.

“I was wondering where all of the pillows and blankets were going. You could have said something if you needed a different place to sleep,” Lance said, sitting on the edge of the mattress and then patting the empty spot beside him. “I know, I know. Don’t trust the space humans! But, dude. You could pretty much ask for anything now and I would get it for you. I owe you, like a _lot_. I guess I was just having an off day or something. Those Galra sentries would have . . .”

Lance was quiet for a moment, swallowing uncomfortably. Keith sat down beside him, wings drawn close to his back. Still, there wasn’t much room between them and the mattress and the wall, so everything was a little too close to Lance.

“Yeah. It wouldn’t have been good,” Lance finished, with a dry laugh. “I can’t really call you my knight in shining armor, mostly because I have a feeling you’d have no idea what that even means. But you proved that . . . you’re a good person, Keith. You had no reason to help any of us and you put yourself in danger just to get me out of a bad situation.”

It looked a little like Lance’s ears were turning red. There was an odd scent rolling off of him, one that Keith couldn’t quite place. It made him want to press his nose against Lance’s neck again, to taste what he was feeling.

Keith’s wings twitched and Lance startled when one brushed across his back. Shifting, Keith tried to put more space between them.

“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,” Lance said, and it sounded like he was apologizing.

“ _You_ are not making me uncomfortable,” Keith said, ignoring the odd feeling in his chest. That uncomfortable jolt, like he was in a fight and needed to decide if now was the time to flee. 

Keith had spent so long trying to ensure the Paladins and Coran didn’t think he felt any way toward them apart from anger, mixed perhaps with a little derision, that admitting any discomfort even now was impossible.

“Oh. Right! I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to . . . mean it like . . . that,” Lance said, then scrubbed a hand over his face.

It was easy enough to breathe in the rest of his scent. Clean linen and a headache-inducing aroma sticking to his skin, like he’d used several different creams on it. Underneath, almost covering the strange emotion Keith had caught before, the scent of anxiety lingered.

Oh. So Keith was the one making Lance uncomfortable, now.

It was always best to counter a lie with the truth.

“It’s my wings,” Keith said after a moment. “My flight feathers are coming back in. They’re . . . It’s not . . . It isn’t you.”

Lance looked like he was already half-asleep. Keith’s hands curled and uncurled in his lap.

“Can I see them?” Lance asked finally. He was looking down at those odd slippers, but Keith thought that the human was keeping track of him out of the corner of his eye. “I know you don’t like us being near your wings, but . . .”

_You saved my life so you must be beginning to trust us._ Keith could sense that was the way the sentence was supposed to end. He dug his fingers into the mattress beneath him, knowing that if he said no, Lance wouldn’t touch him. If he asked Lance to leave, the Paladin would go.

Shiro had said they trusted Keith, but that trust needed to go both ways before any real change could happen. How could he lead these strangers to his planet to help, if he didn’t believe they really would?

Lance smelled like surprise, when Keith shifted toward him, lifting a wing so the Paladin was nearly surrounded by feathers. It was awful, resisting the urge to tuck it back to himself when Lance looked at him, while also knowing that this was much better than talking about _feelings_.

“See, down here?” Keith asked, brushing a hand along the bottom of his wing. Only a few stray feathers were fully formed; the rest were steadily growing in. It would take a week, maybe two, and then he would know if the enemy had done any permanent damage to his wings. He’d never gone so long without flying.

“There aren’t usually so many coming in at once,” Keith said, gaze locked on Lance while the Paladin’s eyes traced the arch of Keith’s wing. “The molting is usually a slower process. But they—whatever they did, it . . .”

Keith gestured loosely to the wing, the ugliness where feathers were still growing in patches. Whenever he kept his wings close to him, walking the halls or at a meal, that meant Keith didn’t have to look at them. Even in his nest the past few weeks, he’d tried to conceal them from himself, burying them in blankets.

“Shiro told you that we’d help, didn’t he?” Lance asked, waiting for Keith to nod before he continued. “Are you afraid that they might do this to you again?”

“I’m not afraid,” Keith snapped, unable to keep the frustration from seeping into his voice. It felt worse, when Lance didn’t even react, looking at Keith with an eyebrow lifted like he’d expected this. The same look Shiro had given him, earlier. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m not afraid!”

“Oh.”

Keith hated the false innocence Lance managed to push into the word, before he jabbed a finger toward Keith’s wing.

“So you wouldn’t mind then, if I touched you?” His eyebrows moved again, lifting more . . . suggestively.

_The color was tight tight tight around his throat and he couldn’t speak, couldn’t scream and there were hands on his wings, but he couldn’t see what they were doing and there was the enemy in front of him, laughing because they were going to keep him and there was all of that blank blank empty time between when he’d been captured and when he came back to himself, trapped on a lab table and_ what had they done to him—

Lance’s hand dropped down onto the mattress between them. 

“See?” he said quietly, and despite that half-asleep look he seemed altogether too intelligent. Like with those stormy eyes he could see right through the feathers and flesh and bone, into the core of Keith. “I’m not trying to pressure you into anything. Just . . . God, Keith, you must feel so alone. Stuck here with us, after what you went through. We can only imagine what was happening down on your planet. And, you know, it’s taking every bit of Hunk’s willpower not to grab you and hug you, because sometimes you just look like you could use . . . someone. To help you feel less alone, for a minute.”

Maybe some of that anger and frustration and _definitely not fear_ did come from losing his connection to his people. So often on the Castle-ship he was surrounded by others, and still altogether by himself.

He ignored the way his fingers twitched, when he took Lance’s hand and laced the Paladin’s fingers between his feathers.

“I’m _not_ afraid,” Keith insisted, stubbornly, before he let go. “Because I trust you.”

It felt like each word needed to be dredged from somewhere deep inside of him, leaving him vulnerable, exposed to any sort of attack. 

Because he refused to look away from Lance or show any sign of weakness, Keith saw the moment when Lance began to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments on the last chapter, they keep me writing!! The next chapter will continue where this leaves off, but from Lance's perspective. I felt like it might be important to see both of today's scenes from Keith's POV, poor bb.


	10. Crew

Keith’s wings were just as soft as Lance had imagined they would feel, but he was careful to keep his hand still. There were feathers tangled around his fingers, tickling his palm, but Keith’s shoulders were drawn in so close that he was nearly hunched over. For all the bluster and bravado, the insistence that he was fine, it was clear Keith wasn’t. Maybe he hadn’t always been like this; maybe they would never really know the version of Keith that might have existed before he’d been captured. Before he’d been forced to fight for his home.

Then again, who might Lance have been, if he hadn’t been drawn into this intergalactic conflict? Would his family see changes in him, if he ever made it back home?

“Keith,” Lance said, and the alien watched him from the corner of his eye. That striking purple gaze nearly pinned him in place, but Lance refused to move his hand away. “Thank you. I mean, the whole saving my life thing proved that you care, at least a little bit.”

He said it just so that he could watch Keith grumble, because he liked the little crinkle that appeared beside Keith’s eyes when he was pretending to be annoyed.

Shifting his fingers, Lance caught a feather against his thumb. It was black, dark as the shadows in the corners of Keith’s room, as one of the blankets he’d obviously stolen from one of the lounges. It almost sounded like Keith wasn’t breathing.

Releasing the feather, Lance tentatively ran his hand along the length of Keith’s wing. He wondered what it would be like to have wings himself, to be surrounded by beautiful, sleek feathers, and—

Keith’s eyes were closed. He was making a strange noise in the back of his throat, that stopped as soon as Lance’s hand stilled. Lance thought about teasing him, asking what the hell _that_ was all about, but when Keith’s eyes opened it didn’t seem like he was completely there. There was that distance in his gaze that the Paladins got whenever they talked about something they missed back home. Allura and Coran had it, too, when they spoke about Altea.

“Lance, stop looking at me like that,” Keith said, shaking his wing until Lance’s hand fell away. Keith’s were fidgeting, with the oversized shirt he wore that had once belonged to Hunk. With his translator, which he thankfully didn’t pull off his ear. Then his hands were in his feathers, where Lance’s had been, and his wings were pulled tight against his body all over again.

Lance waited, although patience definitely was _not_ one of his virtues.

“You . . . I mean, I— _we_ don’t usually preen alone. There’s always someone else helping us care for our wings. Family, friends. Another soldier,” Keith said. Lance wasn’t sure if that was what Keith considered himself to be, or if that was just how it came through the translator. “It just . . . helps.”

Keith rubbed the back of his neck, where some feathers grew in and mixed with his dark hair. Actually, the effect kind of made it look like he had a mullet, and Lance was pretty sure he only stared at it so much because he hated it. Beneath Keith’s fingers, where the slits in Hunk’s old shirt freed his wings, the feathers did look a little . . . rumpled. Like it would be hard for Keith to reach around his back to get to them.

“Alright,” Lance said suddenly, clasping Keith’s shoulder and ignoring the way the alien’s fangs poked out at him. It didn’t escape Lance that this was the first time Keith had offered up information about himself, and his people, without some significant finagling from Pidge or Hunk. “I accept. I’ll be your wing man.”

Personally, he thought it was a fantastic joke, but Keith’s expression scrunched into one he typically wore around the Paladins. The one that said he thought Lance had lost his mind. It was a shame that the translator could only convey words, and not exactly the cultural connotations behind them.

“You’ll what?” Keith asked, picking Lance’s hand off his shoulder.

“I’ll help. Maybe that’s what has you so tense all the time, anyway. You need a good wing massage,” Lance said, flexing his hands and enjoying the mildly horrified widening of Keith’s eyes. “It’s what you get for saving my life. And you’re welcome.”

He didn’t dare to reach for Keith’s wings again, not yet, but did think that maybe all that loneliness Keith would stubbornly never admit to was probably playing some kind of a role in his overall surly attitude. If Keith was going to be allied with Team Voltron, then maybe he needed to try smiling sometime in the next century.

Lance wondered how Keith would look if he did smile. All of that stiffness in his expression would disappear, just for a moment, and his fangs would probably poke out so that he’d look adorable rather than scary. Maybe _that_ was why he was always scowling.

He didn’t reach for the wings, but he grasped Keith’s hand.

“You showed me yours, now it’s time for me to show you mine,” Lance said, grinning crookedly.

Keith’s head cocked to the side, like a puppy who’d just heard a new noise he couldn’t place.

Yeah. Adorable.

“Okay, come on, bird boy,” Lance said, pulling himself to his feet and tugging on Keith’s hand until the alien reluctantly followed. Sure, Lance’s knees felt a little shaky and yes, he’d almost died only a few hours ago, but there was only one gigantic, intimidating, beautiful space robot thing that could make him feel better. And it was time for Keith to meet her.

\- - -

Keith followed Lance down the hallway, ignoring the moments where the Paladin cut a corner a little too close and brushed against one of Keith’s wings. It didn’t really hurt—not physically. And he knew that it was important to keep Lance close, because it looked like he was going to end up collapsing at any moment.

“Do you want me to carry you again?” Keith asked eventually when Lance slumped against a wall, trying to look . . . casual. Like he’d suddenly decided to lean there and flash a grin at Keith while pretending that his chest wasn’t heaving. 

“Again? You’ve never done that before,” Lance insisted.

“But you were conscious when I—”

“Nope. Nuh-uh. Never happened,” Lance insisted, and continued to protest over Keith’s complaints as they finally made their way to a section of the ship the alien had never been in before.

“This is kind of really complicated to explain and I probably should have waited for Allura or, like, Coran to do it because they know all the magic that goes into this, which is really science, but that would have taken too long,” Lance said, jabbing at a datapad before leading Keith through an enormous set of doors.

“See, earlier during your whole lifesaving thing, you used my bayard. For me, it always turns into some kind of rifle when I need to use it as a weapon. Usually, you need to have made a connection with these to make that work. Except for you, bird boy. You got my bayard to respond to you without even knowing that these exist!”

It looked like Lance was leading him into some kind of shuttle bay, but it was huge. Their footsteps echoed emptily around them, and there weren’t any little cargo jumpers like Keith was used to. Like the one he’d used to accidentally smuggle himself onto the Castle-ship.

There were gigantic metal _things_ , things with the same faces Lance’s slippers had, in bold colors. Black, red, blue, yellow, green. There was an odd feeling, prickling the feathers on the back of Keith’s neck, like he was being watched by more than just Lance.

The human threw his hands into the air, and Keith used his wing to steady Lance when he nearly tipped over.

“Keith, meets the Lions. Lions, meet Keith. These are the ships that help us form Voltron and, y’know, save the universe,” Lance said, shrugging his shoulders as if that was only a casual day for him.

“Lions?” Keith repeated, lifting his gaze.

So that’s what the creatures were. They loomed overhead but at the same time didn’t seem very intimidating. It was an odd shape for a spaceship. 

Lance was reaching for Keith’s hand again, so he moved forward before the human could grab him. 

“Hunk pilots the yellow one. Pidge has green. Shiro’s the leader, so he’s in the black one. Allura has Red—they don’t really like each other very much, it’s a whole thing. But best of all is my girl, Blue,” Lance said, leading Keith over to the blue lion. Hugging a front paw, Lance nearly laid out across the metal. “And she helped you save me, didn’t you, girl?”

When his voice dissolved into a bunch of incomprehensible cooing, Keith realized that Lance was no longer focused on him. Which didn’t make any sense. Somehow, Keith had been able to get Lance’s bayard to change into a weapon more useful to him, but that didn’t mean he’d gotten any help from a lion. He hadn’t even known what a lion looked like.

And it was a . . . spaceship. Lance was talking to the ship as if it could hear him, so Keith wondered if that was just a side affect from his near-death experience. 

There was that weird itch on the back of his head again but when Keith looked over his shoulder, the bay was empty apart from them and the ships. Still, there were plenty of shadowed places and hidden corners where anyone could have been lurking. Almost involuntarily, his wings drew in closer around him.

“You okay, Keith? I thought you’d be happy to meet Blue. Even though you didn’t know about Voltron before you infiltrated our ship, my girl is kind of a big deal,” Lance said, sounding almost offended. Arms crossed, he leaned back against the white and blue lion.

“Is someone else in here, Lance?” Keith asked, unable to keep the bite from his voice. That accusation, that made it sound like he _knew_ there was another person in the shuttle bay, knew Lance was tricking him into something, knew his trust had been misplaced and everything was going wrong.

“Uh, no. I think even Shiro is probably asleep by now,” Lance said, pulling a hand through his hair. “Pidge has this whole thing rigged up on the cameras so if there was movement by anything besides any of us, we’d hear about it. She’s testing it out in case there’s another attack so none of us will freaking die. There’s this annoying alarm . . . anyway, you would have heard all about it if you hadn’t abandoned me in the pod.”

“What?” Keith blinked at him. “I didn’t—”

“Uh-huh, you did. You grumped off before I could even thank you,” Lance said, sliding on his heels to sit down with his back resting against his lion. “That’s fine. It just gave us more time to talk about you.”

Keith tried to kill the panic that immediately climbed through him but some of it must have shown, because Lance lifted an arm like some calm gesture might calm Keith down.

“I didn’t mean that as a bad thing. How do you think we decided to send Shiro after you? We needed to have a team meeting so that we could guess which one of us you would be least likely to attack if we sent them after you,” Lance said, shifting so that he was pointing at Keith instead. “Because we don’t only have team meetings about how to save the universe and all that. Sometimes we need to focus on how to save our teammates from themselves.”

Teammates. Allies, friends, teammates. Keith’s hands twitched, because he wanted to reach for his wings but Lance already knew that he started messing with them when he was nervous.

He leaned against the lion’s other paw and tried to ignore that weird feeling, like he was still being watched.

If these lions and Paladins made up Voltron, then it probably meant more than Keith knew, being led into the shuttle bay. Definitely the sort of thing the humans, Coran, and Allura would keep from the Galra, and their other enemies.

Keith sighed because Lance was simply sitting there watching him, with a look that reminded him too much of Shiro. That said it was time for them to talk about _feelings_.

“Maybe you could have another team meeting,” Keith said eventually, turning his head. From the corner of his eye, he could see the smudged outline of the red lion.

“We could,” Lance agreed, nodding solemnly.

There was a flare of heat in Keith’s chest, but it wasn’t anger like usual, or frustration or panic. It felt like something coaxing him toward bravery.

“And I could be there. This time,” Keith suggested, tipping his head back with another sigh when Lance started clapping his hands.

\- - -

In the morning, they all gathered in one of the lounges—the Paladins, and Coran, and Keith—with the sort of tight anticipation that felt as though it could draw all the air out of the room. 

“You really need to stop pacing because you’re making me uncomfortable,” Lance said, grabbing Keith’s arm and dragging him to sit beside him on one of the couches. Then they were close, too close, arms pressed together. Lance shifted his, only to scratch at the feathers closest to Keith’s back. “See? We’re going to have a nice, calm discussion.”

Keith glanced upward and saw Pidge and Hunk staring at them, mouths agape.

“What is _happening_?” Hunk demanded, before gesturing wordlessly at Keith and Lance.

“Nothing,” Keith said immediately, before glaring when Pidge raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Yeah, nothing,” Lance said, leaning forward and slinging an arm around Keith’s shoulders. It lasted a moment, before Keith indignantly shrugged it away. “Too far? I get it. Anyway, Keith has only been all uptight because his wings have been lonely.”

“That isn’t what I said at all,” Keith grumbled at Lance’s way-too-happy expression. 

After Keith had agreed to this meeting, they’d spent too many hours in the shuttle bay, huddled beneath the blue lion. Eventually, Lance had given in to his exhaustion, curled up against a gigantic metal paw. When Keith had started mostly dragging him back to his room, Lance had wrapped an arm around Keith’s wing and kept asking, in a voice laden with forgetfulness and exhaustion, if this made them friends now.

It did not.

“It is quite good to see you both . . . getting along,” Allura said, clasping her hands together. “We cannot thank you enough for the assistance you provided yesterday, Keith. Truly, you are an asset to our team, and we are lucky to have you here with us. Please, do not let Lance distract you. Tell us how we might help you in return.”

Keith’s wings were tense. His heart was pounding. It felt ridiculous, stupid, because it wasn’t like he was in the middle of a fight. No one was threatening him; nothing was going horribly wrong. But these strangers he’d accidentally met, they were all scattered around him, staring. Waiting. The air smelled like determination and anticipation—like the strategy meetings Keith attended before a mission.

Even their scents said that they would help him, and he’d never met any stranger so willing to risk so much just for . . . him. His people. A planet the humans and Altaens had no real investment in.

“I’ve never had to explain it to anyone before,” Keith started. It was rare he’d come into contact with anyone who wasn’t his own kind who wasn’t also trying to kill him. “I guess I could start at the beginning.”

“We’re here with you, Keith. For as much as you want to tell us,” Shiro said, with a nod that was infuriatingly encouraging.

The sky had been a beautiful blanket of stars, like the one Shiro and Keith had stared out over, when it had all started. The fire, and death, and training to kill.

“When I was just a kid, the enemy came in the night to kill us all,” Keith said. “And they almost succeeded.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flashback incoming in the next chapter! as always, let me know what you think! I'm loving all of your comments!


	11. Miles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter alternates between flashback/Keith's current POV as he tells his story.

His mother mussed Keith’s hair, laughing at the way it puffed up with feathers that would gradually fall out as he grew older, apart from the ones growing near his neck. Keith’s hair was dark as the night sky stretching overhead, dark as some of his prettiest feathers. Dark like his father’s.

Every night, he tried so hard to stay awake, because when it was late his father would be home. But his eyes were so heavy, and the nest was so warm, that Keith rarely won that battle against himself.

Their home was in the trees, high high high up, where Krolia always needed to wrap Keith in her arms and fly both of them up to their nest, because his wings weren’t strong enough to fly so far, not yet. They had a home built from other trees, mostly open to the air and set against the trunk, but his kind loved sleeping outdoors when they could. It smelled like peace. Like the world was settling down and all Keith could scent was tiredness, and contentment, and love. There was nothing better than that, and having Krolia’s wing tucked around him while he blinked up at a sky filled with stars peeking out between overarching tree branches. Until he gave in to the heaviness in his eyes and drifted off into dreams filled with stronger wings and thrilling hunts.

One night, the last one, he woke with smoke searing his nose and screams in his ears. The nest was empty, his mother nowhere among all the blankets and pillows and discarded feathers caught tight in the boughs of the tree, leaving him to his own loneliness. Besides their home, there were so many others who lived in the trees. There were bridges strung between trunks, where the old or the young would cross the sky if their wings wouldn’t carry them. There were other nests, smaller or larger, abandoned or new.

When Keith glanced upward, there were dark shapes smudged against the night sky, and the stars were gone. There was only gray, monotonous gray, reflecting back something . . . orange.

When Keith scented the air, it smelled like danger. It was the last night he allowed himself to be afraid.

There were bridges burning across the sky and his wings were too young, too weak, so he huddled in his nest and closed his eyes, burning with lost sleep and stinging with smoke. There were tears because he was alone, and because the fire was coming closer.

“Keith!”

And then he hadn’t been alone, not anymore. 

His father pulled Keith from the nest, wrapping his arms and wings around his son. Keith couldn’t see anything more of the world beyond his father. When he rested his head against his father’s chest, looking up at him, his heartbeat was strong beneath Keith’s ear. Strong. Reliable. Comforting, in the haze around them.

Then they flew together, down where the smoke was less choking and there were others running into the dark among the trees. Scattered feathers drifted in the wind and there were flames, eating away at leaves and branches and—and entire homes. It was all disappearing, burning up into the night.

When his father landed, Keith wasn’t set on the ground. Instead he was lifted into a different set of arms, wings fluttering nervously until he recognized his mother’s scent beneath the stench of the fire.

“You need to lead the others away from here.” His father was speaking to Krolia, but his eyes were on Keith’s face. He smiled, probably because he could see Keith’s worry, but the expression didn’t reach his strained eyes. “There are others still trapped up in the canopy. After they evacuate, I’ll find you both.”

“No, you don’t—” Krolia protested.

“No!” Keith echoed, coughing, uncertain of where his father was going and only knowing it meant _away_. 

“Yes,” his father insisted. He kissed Krolia, and ruffled Keith’s hair until the feathers growing in it puffed up, and then he was . . . gone. Flying up into the trees and the worst of the fire, where the screams were strongest and not everyone returned.

\- - -

“That was the first night,” Keith said, glancing at the humans and Alteans gathered in front of him. For the most part, he’d managed to keep his voice neutral, even during the harsher parts of his memories. It had been so long ago, and there’d been so much more lost since then that it was almost unimportant, reflecting on that portion of his past.

“So, your father—”

“Died,” Keith said when it seemed like Hunk wasn’t going to be able to finish that sentence. The Paladin had already been busy chewing his nails and alternatively looking like he was going to run away or throw up, or both. “They started picking us off from the air, because they’d developed some kind of flying machines. They set fire to the canopy and waited for us to fly away from the flames. Flushed us out. Only the people who left on the ground made it out, that time.”

Their homes, their entire community, it had all disappeared in one disorienting night. Before then, they’d hardly had any contact with the enemy. They knew about them and their metal cities and lack of wings, their different way of life. Keith’s people preferred the trees and open skies, so they’d never bothered to communicate much with the other species they shared their home planet with. Not until the war started.

“Why would they do that?” Shiro asked, leaning forward with a frown. “Attacking families, _children_ . . . why would anyone do such a thing?”

“The Galra do it,” Lance said, before he shrugged. “People on Earth do it all of the time.”

“They wanted us to leave,” Keith said. “There aren’t nearly as many of us, as there are of the enemy. They’re all packed into their cities and we—we need more space to live. Open skies. Clean air. We were taking up too much room. When they realized we would never adapt to their way of life, they figured . . . well . . .”

“That if they gave you no other choice, you would decide to live as they do,” Allura said, expression darkening into something more dangerous. “Then they could do whatever they liked, with your homes or with . . . you.”

“Exactly,” Keith said. “But my people are stubborn, so we decided that we’d rather fight.”

\- - -

First they were forced to live on the ground, if not beneath it, because there it was hardest for the enemy to find them. Then they learned how to fight them.

It was easy to take the skills they had at hunting and use those against the enemy. They could track and strike; they could kill, if they had to. Once the enemy realized that there had been survivors, ones who wanted nothing to do with their cities, wanted to keep the trees their own, the enemy returned. Over and over again.

They spread rumors, that people like Keith would hunt the enemy’s young. That they wanted to destroy the cities, or take them for themselves. It didn’t matter that none of it was true, because those words made the enemy’s people afraid. It made them hope that Keith’s people would go away; it didn’t really matter that there was nowhere else for them to go. Although they loved the sky, the beautiful grey of it during the day and the wash of stars at night, they had no care for worlds beyond their own. They had no means of getting off of the planet, anyway; the enemy had technology beyond what Keith’s people had. That meant no escape.

Until they started stealing shuttles, and weapons, steel and wires and electronics. They hid these parts in their new nests, the ones in the lowest branches or trapped underground. They learned about the enemy and adapted; they began to fight back. But there were so few of them, against an enemy so large. They couldn’t fight as a huge show of force. Their resistance had to be quieter, more cunning, and as Keith grew older he learned he was very good at that.

His mother taught him how to use a blade and how to work with a team. Keith trained to fight and infiltrate and sabotage, to slow down the enemy and ruin them enough so that they would lose interest in a pointless war. So they would give the trees back to his people and allow them to live.

Violence was all they had time for anymore. Keith didn’t mind. The longer he trained and harder he worked, even the long days and weeks he needed to spend away from his people, his _family_ , it didn’t exactly help him forget. But it helped him to think of something besides _that_ night, and his father, and how all of the nests smelled like fear, now. The air they breathed was never peaceful.

\- - -

“There aren’t many of us left,” Keith said, picking at one of the feathers still growing in on his left wing. “We were scattered to start with and over the years they’ve gotten pretty good at picking us off. It’s hard for us to catch up, technologically, so even if we did have the numbers the outlook wouldn’t have been great.”

No one could ever accuse him of being too optimistic.

“That’s it?” Hunk asked, from where he was half-sprawled on the couch, grasping Pidge’s arm. “They won’t stop until you’re—until they kill you all?”

“Oh, no. I guess not,” Keith shrugged. He pushed Lance’s arm away, because the Paladin was attempting to wrap himself around one of Keith’s wings, as if that would help. “We’ve assumed that they’ll want to keep a few of us around now for whatever might be . . . useful, for them.”

There were several reasons Keith hypothesized they’d keep any of his kind alive and none of them were pretty futures.

“One of them being the medical experimentation,” Keith said with a wry smile, that only seemed to rattle the Paladins and Coran even further. He’d thought they would all be immune to this, being in a war themselves. “Which I’m thankful you all interrupted.”

\- - -

The day he’d been captured had been so, so beautiful.

Krolia had been gone for a few weeks, off on some far side of the planet on a mission she hadn’t really told him about. As the years had gone on, they’d seen each other less and less often. There was no _time_ anymore; it didn’t matter. He was too busy training.

So when they asked him if he was good to make a run, he said yes. His mission was meant to be an easy one. Get to the outskirts of a city, grab some supplies, get out. There were all of those rules that had been drilled into him like _don’t attract any attention_ and _take down as many of them as you can_ and _if you’re going to get caught make sure that they kill you_. Maybe Keith had gotten too careless and was tired for scrounging for small victories while his people were steadily depleted, daily. Or maybe the enemy was . . . learning.

He entered enemy territory with two others flying on either side of him, because it was easiest to keep track of a small group. They had blades strapped to their hips and their wings sliced through the air, as they glided closer to their target.

Keith loved flying. He loved going too fast and feeling like he was going to lose control but he _hadn’t_ , he never did, and lived precisely on that giddy edge of recklessness. Hurtling through the sky like it was anger itself that drove him forward, anger mixed with determination and frustration but not fear. Never fear.

The others with him had wings that were the soft gray of dawn on his planet, with flight feathers that sharpened to blue. They were silent and excellent in a fight; Keith wouldn’t have really called them his friends, but they were probably the closest thing he had to them.

They were close to their target—a warehouse, with some intel on enemy movement as well as much needed medical supplies—when something burned through the sky, white hot and glowing, hitting one of those not-quite friends. Those gray and blue wings burned so easily and when he fell, ribbons of flame and charred feathers trailed after him.

Keith and the other solider scattered, so they didn’t hear their teammate when he hit the ground.

Fire chased after them through the sky. Fire and noise—some kind of alarm emitted from the warehouse, so there was little chance this was all an accident and they would still be able to get in. The enemy had known they would come, and Keith had flown idiotically into their trap. He cut right; his living teammate cut left. He never saw her again.

More projectiles chased him through the sky. They were firing something, a new kind of weapon, and there were enemies on the ground waiting for him to fall. They were between him and the warehouse, between him and his escape. Every time he tried to wing higher, to fly faster and _away_ the fire came raging and hurtling across the sky to chase him down, too close to the ground. Close to his enemy’s arms.

Keith fought, when he saw that he had no other choice. _Take down as many of them as you can._

He was good with a weapon. Keith couldn’t say that he was _happy_ with his life, but he was good at what was needed from him. The enemy on the ground had blades, too, and blasters. There were too many of them. He fought and sliced and dragged enemy fighters down beneath him. He bled red but there was purple on him too, blood from the ones he’d defeated. 

But there were always more, fighting to replace the ones who’d fallen.

One caught him around the ankle and Keith fell backward, head slamming against the ground. His vision darkened—for a moment, it looked like there were stars mingling with the smoke in the sky—but he was struggling to get upright almost before he could see. Something gripped his hair, tight, hitting his head against the ground again and again until Keith’s grip on his blade loosened and there was weight on his chest and arms, pinning him down. There was blood in his eyes and he tried to see—Keith wanted to see, even if his last glimpse of the world would be the enemy killing him. 

There was a brush of steel against his throat and Keith waited for the thrust that, with only a few inches of movement, would end his life.

There was a _click_ instead, as something locked around his neck. There were stars in his eyes and his vision swam; Keith felt like he was going to be sick as his head throbbed, but it was worse when he realized it wasn’t a knife being held against his throat. It was a collar. _A collar_. It meant that he wouldn’t get to die, yet. It meant things would get worse.

He struggled, even when every movement jostled his sore head and made the nausea worse, even though when he opened his mouth to scream no noise came from his throat. Keith tried to find his fallen blade, tried to convince the enemy he’d be too much trouble to keep, that they didn’t want to keep him alive—but those fingers were in his hair again, tightening _tightening_ and hitting him, again and again, until Keith lost his battle with consciousness.

He didn’t know how long they’d kept him like that, unconscious and _theirs_ , until he finally, properly woke in the lab.

Then, of course, he accidentally met the Paladins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You all have the best comments I swear. We'll be back to a little fluff in the next chapter :)


	12. Layover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF

Keith yawned while Pidge adjusted a set of goggles she’d strapped over his eyes. They didn’t affect his vision, but she was being very particular about them. Hunk had painted red up the sides, like streaks of flame, but embedded in the frame were wires and gauges that Keith didn’t really know too much about. He hadn’t asked many questions, because he’d known the goggles weren’t something that was going to hurt him.

That didn’t mean he kept still for Pidge, who kept complaining whenever Keith flinched away from her hands.

He’d thought the Paladins would treat him differently after he’d sat down with all of them to talk about how things were on his home planet. Part of him had been afraid they’d refuse to help him; part of him had feared they’d view him as weak, pitiable, once they heard about how stupid he’d been, getting captured. Keith had been right because the Paladins did treat him differently.

They were _nicer_. It was as if all their hanging around him before meant they’d actually been exercising some kind of restraint but now that they knew at least part of him trusted them, they were free to be more . . . annoying.

Pidge adjusted the straps on the goggles again before Keith bared his teeth at her and swatted her hands away from his face.

“Pidge, you’ve kept him waiting long enough. Relax. If you don’t get the results you want this time, we’ll do another run,” Lance said, resting his hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith even let him keep it there, for a minute.

“Guys, are we totally sure this is a good idea? Like, maybe we could start in the lounge? A nice, safe space with plenty of soft things to land on if this goes horribly wrong?” Hunk asked, nervously hovering over the other three.

“I’m not a fledgling,” Keith scoffed, unwilling to picture how embarrassing that would be. “Look.”

Spreading his wings wide—well, as wide as they could go in the cramped hallway without brushing against the Paladins—Keith gestured toward his feathers as if the view should have explained itself.

Behind him, descending _several_ stories, sat a large, empty, and echoing elevator shaft.

Over the past few weeks, while the Paladins had gone out on missions Keith hadn’t been allowed to join and sat in meetings Keith _had_ been invited to, his feathers had properly grown in. His wings were finally full and beautiful, as they were meant to be, and it didn’t appear like there were any lingering effects from whatever the scientists had used to induce their molting. It had probably been something meant to be reapplied, or . . . Keith had never been meant to survive long enough for it to matter that his flight feathers would return.

“Hunk does have a point,” Lance said suddenly and when Keith glanced toward him, the Paladin wouldn’t meet his eyes. Instead he stared over Keith’s shoulder, at that stomach-clenching drop. “This is a big step, right? You haven’t flown in a while. Your wings might have weakened. Maybe you should—”

Keith scoffed, interrupting Lance by shoving him with a wing. He liked the way Lance’s eyes crinkled while he sputtered.

“I can take care of myself,” Keith assured him, before he stepped backward over the edge, with a grin that left his fangs poking out from between his lips.

He fell, fast and faster, wind pulling at his dark hair that had grown longer during his time in space. Wings tucked closer around him, head tilted back, for an exhilarating moment it felt like he was home.

Then his wings flicked outward, flaring to slow his drop until he was hovering, surrounded only by the chrome sides of the elevator shaft. When he glanced upward, Keith could see the fuzzy outline of the three Paladins’ heads peering down at him. Someone shouted triumphantly, the remnants of it echoed down to Keith. It was probably Lance; Keith allowed himself a smile.

Even though he wanted wider spaces and bigger heights, this was alright for the moment. This was enough.

His wings worked harder and he flew back up toward the Paladins, then past them. Pidge shouted something about her data while Keith sped past, climbing higher and higher until he tipped backward. Falling, plummeting, until the air slicked back his feathers and rattled his bones, until it strained a few muscles when he finally reluctantly used his wings to bring himself to a stop before he could hit against the bottom of the elevator shaft.

He flipped over, knees drawn against his chest, and then . . . felt his translator slip off his ear. When he grabbed for it, the wind drummed up from his wingbeats knocked the translator farther out of his grasp. It winked at him in the buzzing, white lights that lined the elevator shaft, before it hit the wall with a very breakable _thunk_.

Keith glanced guilty up above him.

\- - -

“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Keith asked. He had to lean closer to Lance to speak quietly enough that no one else would hear them and the scent rolling off of the human’s skin was . . . nice. The spice of excitement mixed with the warm glow of happiness.

Keith would never call himself nervous, because that was the sort of thing reserved for a few moments before important missions. Maybe _reluctant_ was a better word. But Lance kept glancing over toward him, grinning in a way that made it impossible for Keith to say _no_ to him.

That was why they’d been crammed together on a ledge near the ceiling, impossible for anyone else to reach without significant climbing, for the better part of an hour.

“This is perfect. Pidge is definitely recording this. Everyone will love it,” Lance said, though he reached over and tugged at one of Keith’s feathers. “We can do something else if this is going to stress you out, Keith.”

There was a look in Lance’s eyes like he was teasing Keith for being uptight and concerned that he wasn’t having any fun all at once.

Keith shook his head determinedly. He owed Pidge a little anyway, because she’d come up with another version of his translator that fit more snugly over his ear and _probably_ wouldn’t break. Not that last time had been his fault.

“Fine. Yes. Let’s have . . . fun,” Keith said, with the same enthusiasm he showed every time someone reminded him that he wasn’t allowed to hunt the space mice. He never tried to eat them anymore, but he couldn’t help tracking them down whenever they popped up nearby. It was just . . . practice.

“Your enthusiasm is very reassuring,” Lance said. When he smiled, Keith’s lips twitched. Part of him felt like he should have been flying away. “Ready?”

Keith nodded, reaching over for Lance. There was some awkward shuffling, because the ledge really hadn’t been designed for anyone to be up there. It was inconvenient, living in a ship that assumed you didn’t have wings.

Wrapping his arms around Lance’s waist, Keith pulled the human closer to him until his chest pressed against Lance’s back. They were nearly the same height—Lance continuously insisted he was taller, which was _entirely untrue_ —but Keith’s wings strong enough to carry both of them. He’d been taking Pidge around the Castle-ship; she’d fashioned a set of goggles for herself as well, so she could record his speed and something about the angles of his turns. Hunk, he’d only taken up once, and the Paladin had seemed so nervous that Keith had decided maybe it would be best not to try that again.

And Lance?

Keith liked it best when he could hunt Lance through the hallways. He’d grab Lance before the Paladin even knew he was there and then take off, just to hear the human’s scream of surprise. Lance said that he hated it but Keith could smell that he was lying. It was partially what had given the Paladin his idea to do this, after all.

Wings twitching with anticipation, Keith pushed forward, throwing both of them off of the ledge. This close, he could smell when Lance’s excitement turned to fear, just for a moment, and then melted into sweeter exhilaration.

“Shiro!” Lance screeched happily, a moment before Keith released his hold on him.

The timing was perfect, really. Lance tackled Shiro from above as he was innocently walking across the lounge. Then both of them were buffeted by the wind from Keith’s wings as he slowed his descent before he could barrel into them as well. 

Bare feet safely on the lounge floor, Keith tilted his head to the side. He didn’t think he’d ever quite heard Shiro make a noise like that before.

“Lance! What are you—Keith?” Shiro glanced over toward him as Lance hung around Shiro’s shoulders, laughing nearly hysterically.

“Did you see the look on his face, Keith?” Lance asked before Shiro finally managed to shake him off and the Paladin reluctantly slid to the floor.

Keith nodded, but he hadn’t really been watching Shiro. Just Lance.

Glancing toward the other Paladin, he did feel a little guilty. Shiro gripped his chest like his heart was beating too fast and Keith knew that if it had been someone jumping out at him, his reaction might have been a little more . . . violent.

“Scheming against me wasn’t quite what I wanted when I was hoping the team would start bonding,” Shiro said, shaking his head slightly. “Should I be proud, or—”

“Definitely proud. No need to finish that thought,” Lance said, lacing his hands together behind his back before he started edging out of the room. “Doubly proud, after we bond over what Pidge recorded.”

“Lance—”

The Paladin was already gone, laughing to himself as he raced out of the room.

“I never thought that you’d end up being a troublemaker too,” Shiro said, glancing back toward Keith. His wings were folded back, as if that would help him escape the older Paladin’s notice.

Shiro reached over and ruffled Keith’s hair, and—and Keith didn’t even feel tempted to bite him. Sure, he bared his teeth with a growl stuck in the back of his throat. As soon as Shiro left, probably going after Lance, Keith pulled his hands through his hair to fix it. But he hadn’t minded.

Maybe it was because Shiro smelled like warm nests and starry nights. Maybe Keith was just spending too much time trapped with the Paladins on the Castle-ship. It made him want to hit something.

\- - -

Allura and Coran had showed him the training room, the day after he’d told them mostly everything. It was one of Keith’s favorite parts of the ship, the one location where he was actively encouraged to destroy the things set before him. Coran had helped him with setting up some of the training levels, to rebuild Keith’s strength and reflexes. 

Now that he was allowed near the weaponry, Keith almost always had something deadly clutched in his hands. Still, he preferred blades over blasters. Hand to hand combat was more exhilarating—more dangerous, too, but that was half of the thrill of it. Still, if his people had rifles like the ones Lance used, it would have been easier to take out the enemy’s own weaponry without needing to fly too close.

Sometimes Coran would stand to the side while Keith went through several levels of training sequences, pushing himself harder to be faster and stronger. Eventually Coran would shut off the program and they’d sit together, Keith’s muscles quivering, under the pretense of Coran’s curiosity. Out of all of them, he asked the most questions about Keith’s home planet—not really about the war or his people, but about what it was like living there. Inevitably something would get compared to another strange creature Coran had seen out in the universe, or he would tell Keith about how things had been on Altea. 

Coran had seen so much of the universe—more than Keith ever hoped or wanted to see. And the enthusiasm he had for it all—that made it impossible to refuse any of his questions. So Keith told him about the blue and purple flowers that grew on vines that wrapped around the trees which had once been his home. He talked about living underground and integrating stolen technology into their new way of life, after the first attacks. They talked about the creatures Keith hunted for food and how high his people could fly. How on certain nights in the hottest parts of the year, silver drops would come spinning down from the sky as if the stars were crying.

Coran never made it feel like missing home. It felt like _remembering_.

One night Allura came to Keith while he was sprawled across the training deck, bruised and panting and still tempted to fire up another training sequence.

“I think it is more than past the time we should gift you with a weapon of your own,” Allura said, peering down at Keith. When he glanced up toward her, she smiled, and Keith could see some of that eager excitement Coran always exuded was bottled up in Allura, too. “It is not quite a bayard, but we felt it appropriate as you were extremely proficient with what the bayard transformed into for you.”

Pressing on his elbows, Keith sat up to look at the short sword resting across her palms. It was silver and white, matching most of the Castle-ship. The hilt was a little gaudy for his taste, less streamlined and more decorative, but it looked sharp. Well-balanced and sturdy, made with some kind of material his people wouldn’t be able to name.

“It was made on Altea. None of us currently have any use for it, and truthfully it has sat unattended in the armory for too long. I hoped you might like to wield it,” Allura said, extending it toward him.

A weapon, for him. Keith had seen the Paladins train with their bayards, now that he was allowed on the training decks, and he knew that somehow those corresponded with the lion-ships Lance had shown to him. Though he hadn’t expected one for himself, he’d been tempted to steal Lance’s to see if it would work for him again. A weapon of his own, one that he could bring to his room and wouldn’t have to return to anyone, one that he could tuck into his nest or strap on his hip, would be . . . perfect.

Keith stood to take the sword from her. As he’d suspected, it was perfectly balanced.

“Thank you,” Keith said, keeping his eyes carefully trained on the weapon. Sometimes it felt like the Paladins were all _too_ nice, so much so that it was overwhelming. “This is . . . It means . . . I’m—”

“You’re very welcome, Keith,” Allura said, smiling when he glanced up toward her through his stammering. Laying her hand over his, she squeezed his fingers against the hilt of the sword. “I am very glad that you have become a part of my team.”

Frowning, she seemed to think for a moment before holding up a finger. “However, I will rescind that thought if you and Lance are planning something against me like you did to Shiro.”

Keith smothered his laugh.

\- - -

They were making plans to return home. Real, solid, concrete plans that had Keith on edge nearly all the time. He growled at the mice until they left him alone. He left new dents in the floor of the training deck. Glared more often, tried to eat alone when he could, screamed at Lance when the Paladin tried to talk him into doing another prank.

Nearly every night, afterward, Keith felt terrible—almost like he should apologize. He’d never smelled anger like that on Lance, like he had when the Paladin had shouted back at him. If he entered the lounge or dining room when the other Paladins were in there, Keith could immediately scent the change in their overall mood. As if they knew any small word or movement would set him off again.

He wasn’t frustrated with _them_ , it was just _everything else_ , and he’d been stuck on this ship for so long that he had no other way to vent his feelings. There was never free time like this, on his home planet. They had the same strategy meetings, but they were always rushed and strained. An attack could come at any moment; a counterattack never had the luxury of being fully thought through before his people needed to make a move. All of this sitting and waiting and _thinking_ made Keith want to tear out his feathers and . . . yell at the Paladins.

After his regret came the fear. He always wondered if he’d gone too far, if he would wake up and find out that Voltron wasn’t coming to save his people. The war would continue and their way of life would die alongside most of the population, just because he couldn’t keep his emotions in check. His nest never felt safe anymore, even with the stolen pillows and the Altaen sword tucked around him. Training didn’t release any of the tension curled in his chest. Keith had completely recovered from his time with the scientists, but it still felt like there was something wrong with him. Broken.

Which was why at the end of a week of living right on the edge, feeling like he was going to slip and lose even more control over himself, Keith ended up pounding on Lance’s door.

“Keith? Is something wrong?” Lance asked, rubbing his eyes with a long yawn. In his other hand he loosely held his bayard, as if half-asleep he was still prepared to go out and kill something.

“I’m—I’m sorry, okay?” Keith said bluntly, folding his arms over his chest. His wings were tucked close against his back, but standing in the hallway still left him feeling horribly exposed.

“Sorry?” There was another yawn as Lance lowered his bayard, those stormy eyes blinking slowly at him. “In the middle of the night, you have to . . . Fine. Come in.”

He shuffled back into his room without a backward glance, sitting on the edge of his bed. Shoulders slumped forward, Lance looked ready to fall back into his rumpled sheets. An eye mask was thrown aside across one of his pillows.

“I didn’t mean that I had to—” Keith growled, just a short noise of frustration, before he stepped inside. The door slid shut silently behind him.

The apology was meant to be short, just a quick assurance to himself that the Paladins still possibly liked him. Keith might have told them that he was trying to stop himself from snapping so much, but that would mean admitting that he had a problem in the first place. Then there would be more _feelings_ talk. 

“I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t . . . angry. Because of me,” Keith said, glancing away from Lance. There were plenty of other things to look at; unlike Keith’s barren room, Lance’s was filled with clothes, discarded weapons, and plush toys. Pillows and blankets, those lion slippers, too many bottles of the scented lotions and things that Lance always smelled like. “I don’t want my actions to affect the plan.”

“What? Why would that happen?” Lance asked, cocking his head to the side. “Sure, you’ve been an asshole lately, but that doesn’t mean . . . oh. You thought that meant we’d decide not to help you.”

Keith fidgeted, pretending to be busy with keeping his wings from touching any of the mess on the floor.

“Look, no offence, but we’ve helped out plenty of assholes before, bird boy. The universe is full of them. We help people because it’s the right thing to do and not always because we _like_ the people we’re doing it with,” Lance shrugged. “I mean, I like you, even if you do have a mullet and a bad temper. We’ve just been waiting for you to get over yourself. Honestly, we all thought you’d break for Pidge. I didn’t expect you to come to me. I’m honored.”

Lance tried to flash him a cheeky grin, but the edges were dulled with exhaustion. The expression made something in Keith’s chest lurch. 

“You thought I’d go to Pidge?” Keith asked eventually.

“Well, yeah. You’ve still been grumpy to her, but you’re still letting her collect her data. If you’d made her cry or something, we’d have a problem, but you’re just . . . tense.” Lance was quiet for a moment, and Keith wondered if maybe he could sleep with his eyes open, before Lance perked up and grabbed for Keith’s wrist. “I’ve got it. Wing massage.”

“You—what? No,” Keith protested, as Lance pushed him down onto the floor with surprising strength. 

“Yes! Do you even hear yourself talk, Keith? All the things you say about your home mean that you’re lonely, dude. You went from communal living and having people to take care of you, and your freaking wings, to holing up in your room alone every day so you can . . . angst in private, I guess,” Lance said while Keith sat down in front of him. “You did it a lot less, after you decided to tell us about yourself. But you aren’t allowed to shut everyone out again just because you’re afraid our plan isn’t going to work.”

“I’m not afraid!” Keith snapped. He _wasn’t_. There wasn’t any time for that.

“Okay, sure,” Lance said, in a tone that brokered no belief in what Keith had said. He settled his hand between Keith’s wings and the alien tried not to shiver. From where Lance sat on the bed above him, the Paladin wouldn’t be able to see his face, but could probably feel Keith’s muscles jumping. “Then why have you been fighting with all of us? You hate us?”

“No,” Keith protested, and this answer was just as immediate. Lance’s fingernails scraped against his back, right between his shoulder blades where his wings began. This time, Keith did shiver.

“You don’t believe that Voltron will help you?” Lance asked, pulling his hands through the feathers closest to Keith’s back. 

“No, you will. You told me you would,” Keith said, knowing that the Paladins would keep their word. They’d never given any sign that they’d go back on what they’d promised. But they might, they _would_ if they thought Keith and his people didn’t deserve their help. 

He tried not to close his eyes as Lance worked his hands over Keith’s wings, but he couldn’t stop the low sound building in the back of his throat.

“Then you’re afraid. You’re afraid it won’t work,” Lance said, as if it were that simple.

Keith ground his teeth together. It wasn’t—couldn’t be true. He’d been raised better than that. To live with that kind of fear meant losing before they even started.

His head tilted forward as Lance’s hand trailed upward, smoothing down the feathers growing with the hair near Keith’s neck.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Lance said, tired voice suddenly so close that Keith thought he could feel the Paladin’s lips move against the top of his head. “I’m scared sometimes before a mission. One thing that helps is knowing I’m not alone.”

He pulled backward then, hands slipping away from Keith’s feathers so the strange, contented noise that had built up in his throat dissipated.

It turned to a squawk of surprise when Lance threw a pillow at him. Then another, and a blanket.

“Sorry, I don’t steal as much to keep in here as you do,” Lance said, sprawling across his bed. He lay at the edge, where Keith could still see the glimmer of his smirk. “Sleep well, okay? Try not to snore.”

Keith peered down at the pillow in his hands, then the space on the floor beside Lance’s bed. The Paladin gestured to it loosely, jaw clenched while he hid a yawn.

Keith wasn’t afraid, but he wanted to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that updates have been taking longer! We're a little over halfway through the fic but I have some deadlines over the next few weeks that will slow things down temporarily. Updates will be a little sporadic, but they happen :) Your comments give me life !!


	13. Route

In, out.

_Patience yields focus._

His heart was loud as a summer storm in his ears and there was a hand on his back, just beneath the curve of his wings.

_Remember to breathe. Remember we’re here for you. Remember to breathe._

In, out.

Keith stepped into the shuttle.

_“We’ll bring the lions down after they know we’re approaching peacefully,” Shiro had said after finding Keith in their hanger. It was one of the last places on the ship he felt like he could rest, the closer they came to his home. “Besides, we don’t want to attract any attention from the Vidorians.”_

_“No. I won’t lead the enemy to my people,” Keith said, but he looked up at the lions instead of at Shiro. His wings were held loosely against his back, but there was an itch there, as if he’d forgotten something. Eventually he glanced over toward the Paladin with a nod. “I’ll take whatever help you’ll give me.”_

“Has Keith boarded yet? Coran, are we cleared for descent?” Shiro asked, glancing over his shoulder from where he sat in the pilot’s seat.

The shuttle was so dark and cramped, the opposite of the Castle-ship, and whenever Keith looked in the corners he could only see himself—weak and lost, huddled in the back with the cargo. Choking, as the collar around his neck tightened, as he tried to demand answers from Lance before realizing the Paladins truly didn’t know much about his home planet. 

“Keith’s on,” Lance said, hand shifting against Keith’s back to scratch at the feathers closest to his wing joints. It was an unfair distraction. Pressing Keith into a seat, he then frowned down at him and the bulkiness of his wings tucked awkwardly around him. “I can’t really fit on the whole harness, Shiro. Try and set us down easy when we get on-planet.”

Leaning back as Lance came closer, Keith growled as the Paladin’s hands brushed against his hips.

“Relax, bird boy. I wouldn’t get up to anything fun while Shiro is here,” Lance said, pulling a seatbelt tight across Keith’s hips.

“I’ve sent you the coordinators, number one. The landing site should be fairly unoccupied and there don’t appear to be any sensors in the unsettled area that would track your approach.” Coran’s voice echoed around the cramped shuttle as he spoke to them from the control room. He’d stay on the Castle-ship with the other Paladins, waiting for confirmation that they could come down and join the others.

Keith had made it very clear that his people didn’t trust outsiders—that because of where his planet was located and their limited interaction with anyone from off-planet, anyone without a set of wings was guaranteed to want to kill them. Bringing all of the Paladins might overwhelm them, and the bigger their numbers the larger the chance that something would end up going horribly wrong. 

Shiro had been an obvious choice. He led Voltron, knew what it was like to be trapped, to feel weak, to fight in a war that might never end. At the same time he radiated the sort of calm that usually aggravated Keith but would probably be good for negotiating an alliance. 

And Lance . . . 

Lance might have been too impulsive to be a diplomat, but he’d made it clear he wouldn’t stay behind on the Castle-ship.

_“You need me,” Lance said, when Keith suggested he and Shiro go down alone, and he hadn’t stopped repeating himself. “You need me. You need me. You need me.”_

Keith’s hands curled tight around the seatbelt so that he could cover how they shook and he pretended that Lance had been wrong. There were empty seats around them, there was too much empty space in spite of the fact that he hated how small the shuttle was. Everything inside of him yearned for open spies, for _air_ , and the Castle-ship wasn’t quite able to replicate that but it was better than this. Keith didn’t realize that he’d started keening, the noise lodged in the back of his throat, before Lance reached over from his seat and threaded his fingers through Keith’s feathers.

His wings were uncomfortable, cramping against the back of his seat, but the engines were firing up. Shiro confirmed details with Coran about coordinates and rendezvous points. Every time he moved, to shift something on the controls that brought the shuttle a little closer to life, Shiro casually narrated what he was doing. It took Keith a moment to realize that this was for his benefit, because of course Lance would know how to fly this himself. Keith’s last shuttle ride had been completed while he’d been mostly unconscious and part of him wished he could forget this part. The anxiety, the anticipation, the claustrophobia.

In, out.

The bay doors shuddered open and Shiro eased the shuttle away from the Castle-ship.

Keith closed his eyes. It only lasted a moment. When he risked a glance, he couldn’t see much outside of the shuttle from where he was positioned behind Shiro. This wasn’t a pleasure craft with plenty of windows for optimal viewing. This was supposed to store supplies, not people. But he could see enough. There was that perpetual darkness that followed them, no matter where Voltron ended up in space. There were the stars which seemed warmer here somehow, and still so far away.

There, coming closer, was a planet. Big, gray and brown, with swaths of white striking through both.

He leaned forward in his seat, until his wings settled around him and his seatbelt cut into his stomach.

“Is that . . .” Keith paused, wingtips twitching, heart thumping. He wanted to leap out of the shuttle and race home on his own.

_Patience yields focus._

“The planet we accidentally stole you from, hitchhiker,” Lance said, and it sounded like maybe he thought it looked beautiful, too. “Welcome home.”

\- - -

The air was so perfect, clear and bright and beautiful, when Keith stumbled out of the shuttle. They’d landed in a forested area far from the cities, one of the only places offering relative safety from the enemy. Overhead trees stretched several stories above them, the canopy a tangle of leaves and branches that left the ground rather dark. With Keith’s sharp eyes, he could still see fairly well, tracking the Paladins on either side of him, who shifted and warily stared out into the forest. There were small creatures scurrying away from them, bright blue buzzing things and small pink creatures that had no wings and made Keith’s mouth water as he watched them hop away. Those tasted sweet and were hard to catch so his legs were already tensed with the need to spring after them.

Rolling back his shoulders, he breathed in deep. He could smell the things he wanted to hunt; it would be so easy to follow one of those trails to a good, familiar meal. Hunk had done his best, so he’d never gone hungry, but Keith had always preferred to acquire his own meals.

He scented the Paladin’s too, Shiro’s worry and Lance’s curiosity. There were the trees—Keith could smell the age of them, which were sturdy and which might give way to rot, so would be no good for nesting. Not that his people could live in the canopy any longer. Leaning forward, wings flaring, it took him a moment to sort through what his senses were telling him. After so much time on the Castle-ship, too much wasted time, for a jarring moment he felt like he’d forgotten how to be . . . himself. How to sort through a thousand scents to find the one that he needed.

“Keith? Are we going to stand around here all day?” Lance asked.

It was probably just difficult because Lance kept distracting him, so Keith used a wing to knock the Paladin off-balance.

_There._ There. That was the scent he wanted, feathers and sweat and fear. It wasn’t very good, but it was familiar. His people for the most part smelled the same; there were only a few individual scents he would have been able to pick out, if they’d lingered in the area. But Keith didn’t—there wasn’t—he couldn’t search for those. They needed to make contact; it didn’t matter who was in the woods. That part could come later.

A soft breeze crawled between the trees, ruffling his feathers. _Oh._ Oh! The wind. He’d missed the wind. The Castle-ship had been so still, like a body without breath, and flying there had felt stale. Always gliding, always fighting to crawl through the dead air. Here his wings felt lighter, freer, less like something to be dragged around on his back. Keith shook his feathers loose and leapt into the air.

“Keith!” Shiro called after him, because this wasn’t part of the plan. They were meant to stick together; the Paladins would be no better than lost fledglings wandering around the forest. But Keith was home, he was _here_ and so close that the happiness he felt at sinking his toes into the soil was tangled with his fear that there would be nothing else left for him to return to.

His wings beat hard, fast, carrying him upward until he could hover comfortably over the Paladin’s without kicking out an updraft that would shoot dirt into their faces. 

“Follow me!” he demanded, and then he was gone. Flying, darting between enormous tree trunks, grinning when he heard Lance’s grumble behind him. The wind pulled through his feathers and there was no scent of danger, nothing like the enemy, just him and his _friends, they’d become his friends_ , and his people somewhere in the distance.

He’d never dared to think that he might fly home again. Uncertain of what his expression looked like, fangs poking free and hair whipping wildly around his face, Keith was glad he’d left the Paladin’s behind. Though he ached to fly higher and knew he could go faster, he resisted. For now. It wouldn’t do to draw any attention to himself.

The scent grew stronger, driving itself through his thoughts, pushing him onward. The humans were running behind him but his people were ahead. He could smell shed feathers and the remains of a hunt, all the scattered remnants of home. Lifting his head, a low hum started in the base of his throat. One that said _I’m back, I’m here, I’m a friend, don’t hurt me_. A song of home and trust, an almost involuntary reaction. There were no corresponding chirrups from the surrounding trees, but Keith pushed forward anyway. Maybe the people here wouldn’t recognize him, but they would clearly see he was one of them. Anyone with a pair of wings was trustworthy.

The noise in his throat cut off with an echoing screech as someone slammed into his back, knocking him into the dirt. Twigs and rocks scraped his skin as Keith skid, dragged forward by his momentum and the _thing_ that had hit him. The enemy? He didn’t know how they would have managed to disguise their scent.

He rolled, tucking his wings around him to try to dull the force of the abrupt landing, and howled when he smacked into a tree. Pain radiated up his side, down the arch of his wing, and then there were hands in his feathers. Keith struck blindly with his fists, tucking his legs beneath him to shove off the ground. The Altaen sword had been a near-constant presence at his side ever since Allura had gifted it to him, but it was trapped between his hip and the dirt. The presence overhead dug nails into his head, gripping the short feathers at the base of his neck and _pulling_ to try to force Keith back down.

Screeching, he kicked out, bare feet making a few solid connections while his neck cranked at a harsh, unnatural angle. Eyes watering, he squinted at the wavering figure overhead, baring his teeth.

He froze only when he heard a warning growl, the stillness allowing his eyes to focus.

The person pinning him to the ground had wings.

\- - -

Lance tried to squash down the initial flicker of panic that jolted through him when he realized Keith was flying. At first it was worry, because he remembered the Keith who’d infiltrated the Castle-ship. The one who wouldn’t stop staring at them like he was waiting for them to hurt him. The one who never let anyone touch him, who broke things just to gauge how angry the Paladins would get. Lance knew that version of Keith was still in there because it reappeared whenever someone walked up too quietly behind him or if they spent too long invading his personal space.

Then he realized that Keith could just . . . leave.

On the Castle-ship, there’d been no real danger of losing him. There were only so many places Keith could go even with wings; he would always be there if Lance went looking for him. But on his home planet, Keith could fly off and vanish. Not because the enemy took him again but because he was back where he belonged, and wasn’t that what he’d wanted from them all along?

So Lance ran, afraid to let Keith out of his sight while he flared his wings and cut around trees with an ease he’d never shown in space. Lance’s heart pounded, chest heaving, armor uncomfortably hugging him as he hurried to keep up with the alien. That pain didn’t still, but Lance’s heart felt a little lighter, when he’d catch Keith lowering his head every so often to check on the Paladins behind him. Those violet eyes were bright and _alive_. Keith had never looked so . . . beautiful.

Even when he made some kind of trill in the back of his throat, simultaneously a warning and a greeting, a noise no human could have ever made, Lance couldn’t stop staring.

Then a figure with wings that flashed a soft lavender in the shadows of the forest tackled Keith out of the sky.

Shiro shouted something, but the words were lost in Lance’s own cry and Keith’s shrill protests. There were noises like whistles, as the two tumbled to the earth, a tangle of limbs Lance couldn’t parse through. His bayard transformed but the rifle was useless. It was too risky, because he might end up shooting Keith.

The two froze, Keith’s hair caught in the stranger’s hand, one wing pinned to the ground. Shiro and Lance pulled up short.

“Let go of him!” Lance shouted, while Shiro threw out a hand—the flesh one, the peaceful one, trying to calm everyone with one careful motion. “We’re here to help you. You’re hurting him!”

“Lance—” Keith’s voice sounded choked, as the grip on his hair pulled higher. The other alien was so much taller than Keith, broad and strong. “I— _stop_ —”

His lips pulled back, bared at the stranger holding onto him, who mimicked the expression with a hiss. When the alien spoke, Lance realized he couldn’t understand any of his words. The language was like birdsong, if that could be made to sound dangerous. Deep and interspersed with more growled words that Lance couldn’t even guess the meaning of.

He glanced toward Shiro as Keith responded with something that didn’t translate, either. Introducing himself? Lance remembered when Keith had told them what his people called him, and it had just sounded like . . . senseless screeching. 

Pointedly, Shiro tilted his head toward the pouch on Lance’s hip. Pidge had supplied them with a whole rig of translators, ones she termed “Keith-proof”. The problem would be getting them on these other birds without losing any important bits. Those teeth looked sharp.

“They aren’t with the enemy,” Keith said in response to something the other alien said. Then, “Yes, I brought them here to help us. Let go of me. Yes. _Yes_ , I—if you don’t let go of me, I swear I’ll stab you—”

It was strange hearing one side of the conversation but comforting to know that Keith was grumpy on his home planet, too. The other alien stared toward Shiro and Lance, speaking quietly.

“They’ve built these translators, so that we can understand them. They’re harmless. I checked,” Keith said, lifting a hand to his ear. The alien twisted his head to get a closer look and when Keith grimaced, Lance wanted to rush over there himself. He wanted to pull them apart and the urgency felt so visceral that it hurt.

“They’re the ones who helped me escape. I would be dead if they hadn’t,” Keith said quietly and the way his shoulders slumped, Lance saw that the memory of it still stung. When he’d been so convinced the Paladins would throw him back into the shuttle and bring him somewhere worse.

The alien loosened his grip on Keith, enough for him to scrabble to his feet with some dignity intact. 

“Here—” And then Keith’s words dissolved into the same strange, tangled language as the stranger’s, as he pulled the translator from his ear. It was difficult to remember sometimes that this was what Keith always sounded like, and it was only the working translator that twisted the noise into something Lance could understand. He handed the device to the stranger, who eyed it with the same distrust Keith had first shown.

Instead of smashing it into a million pieces, the stranger sniffed it before hooking it over his ear.

“Thank you for giving us the chance to explain ourselves,” Shiro said immediately, lowering his placating hand. Feathers ruffled, Keith was stalking back over to them. It might have been adorable if Lance could have stopped staring, certain he’d been hurt somewhere when he’d fallen. “Keith has been telling us about the situation on your planet, and we’re here to offer our assistance, if you’ll have us. Have you heard of Voltron?”

The stranger lifted an eyebrow, seemingly surprised that the translator actually worked, before shaking his head. “We don’t get many friendly outsiders around here.”

His tone made it clear that he still wasn’t certain they fell into that category.

Lance pulled another translator from the bag, handing it over to Keith. He held onto the alien’s hand a moment longer than necessary, because he could see that Keith’s fingers were shaking. Right. It probably didn’t feel great to be pinned down, when the last time that had happened Keith ended up in some kind of mad scientist lab.

“This is Lance and Shiro,” Keith introduced, throwing a hand their way. Then he rested his palm on the hilt of his sword—casually, too casually, like he wouldn’t be taken off guard again. “You both can call him Thace.”

“I’ll take you to the nearest Marmora nest, but you aren’t going near any civilians,” Thace said, folding his arms across his chest. He was all sharp edges, with a short beard and tense jaw. His wings were larger than Keith’s, bulkier like the rest of him.

Maybe Keith was small for his kind and that was what made him so angry.

“Fine,” Keith said dismissively, shifting his wings until one knocked into Lance’s side and remained there, warm and tickling his skin. “We’re wasting time standing around here.”

\- - -

Thace was angry about needing to walk, angry over trying to keep an eye on the Paladins while also looking out for enemy patrols. Keith didn’t know him personally, but he’d heard of him through the Marmora network. And apparently Thace had heard of him, too, because after Keith had told him his name, he’d looked a little less like he wanted to kill Keith. Word had probably spread about him after his capture and then dissipated, like it did for anyone who was taken. People would keep an eye out, but no rescue attempts were made. No one ever came back.

“Why are you patrolling this deep in the forest? The enemy gained this much ground?” Keith asked. Thace was just behind, so he wouldn’t have to have his back to the humans. 

Surely Keith hadn’t been gone that long. There had always been enemy raids in the forest, but they weren’t bold enough to venture this far beneath the trees. There were other forests on other parts of the planet where his people were similarly huddled, hoping the enemy would just stay away and let them live.

“No. Not exactly,” Thace grunted. He didn’t seem to want to say much to Keith, but eventually he couldn’t help but growl. “We think some have surrendered, to ensure they’ll be the ones kept around if the enemy wins this war.”

Keith had been so confident, marching into the forest. _Anyone with a pair of wings was good._ It felt better to know Thace would have tackled anyone flying into his part of the woods. Worse to realize that so much had gone so wrong while he’d been away.

“So they’ll have . . . they’ll . . .” Keith ground his sharp teeth together, thinking about bright laboratory lights and a cold table underneath him. His wings—something wrong with his wings, and scientists ready to pry him apart.

He’d been willing to die to keep his kind’s secrets, while there were others out there freely handing out information to save their own skin.

“They’re already destroying us. The whole network is falling apart,” Thace said, baring his teeth. “How do you think they were alerted about your presence so quickly during your supply run? We had three others fail that week.”

_Fire hurtled through the sky and feathers floated, slow and calm and languid as one of the two who’d come with him on the raid fell from the sky._

“It only became worse from there. The betrayal started killing us,” Thace said and he sounded tired for once, instead of angry. “Made it harder to know who to trust.”

He lifted his head and trilled once, a sharp noise that filtered through the trees before them. There were answering murmurs in the wind, and Keith swallowed down an answering call of his own. When he glanced over his shoulder, Thace was watching him, gaze strained.

“No one comes back from the enemy, _Keith_ ,” he said, and the shadows around him shifted.

Keith’s wings snapped out and he grabbed for Lance, but the Paladin was just out of his reach. Then there were others dropping from the trees, onto Shiro—onto Lance—and something heavy collided with the back of Keith’s head, so he could see nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to clarify, the Galra are still the overall threat in the universe but haven't reached this planet yet. in this story, the Blade of Marmora is a group that exists on Keith's planet. there's still a resistance against the Galra, but these rebel forces aren't associated with each other. yet. ;)
> 
> as always, thank you for reading!!!


	14. Ground Stop

His head hurt, so whenever the pain pulsed through his skull his thoughts scattered into little shattered pieces again. The tips of his fingers felt numb and when he shifted because his wings were too cramped, muscles screaming, they refused to unfurl. Blinking, eyes watering because of the blow to his head and the harsh lights above him, Keith tried to focus. He tried to _remember_.

When he breathed in deeply, the room around him smelled like neglect and fear.

Keith knew he’d been in the woods. He’d been with Thace, and hadn’t bothered scenting him too closely because they were all on the same side, weren’t they? His kind all smelled similar, because of the war, constantly coated in the sharp tang of tension and a furious undercurrent of worry. Any patrol in the woods would give off a scent similar to someone plotting to get his own kind . . . 

Captured.

Trying to shift again, Keith realized he couldn’t move his arms. They were tied behind his back, awkwardly pinning his wings in place, and the strain on his shoulders made him feel like they were going to pop. His clothes, oversized pieces the Paladins had handed over to him, were filthy like he’d been dragged across the forest floor.

When Keith tried to breathe again, it felt like his lungs were broken. He gasped like he was choking and then it was worse, because he was trying to be quiet, because what if they heard him? _They_ could use his fear against him. Keith was supposed to be stronger than this, braver, but it felt like an immense weight was pressing down on his chest. It was heavy, becoming heavier, restricting the air he could get so there were dark spots in his eyes and more pain bloomed at his wrists as he pulled against his restraints.

“Keith!”

It took him a moment to realize someone else was there. Keith lifted his head, because he would prefer to see the hurt coming. His jaw flexed, teeth bared, and even if he could this time he promised himself he wouldn’t scream. _He couldn’t scream._

But it was . . . Lance.

There was another chair just a few feet too far away from Keith’s and Lance—Lance was trapped, too. There was a bruise forming on the curve of one cheekbone, helmet gone, bayard gone. His lips moved, forming words Keith couldn’t understand as the human leaned forward. Lance couldn’t move very far; his hands were tied to the back of his chair, too.

No. _No._ This was worse, because it was Keith’s fault. They would hurt him, and his hands shook at the thought of that, but this time he wasn’t alone. No, he would be forced to watch them do the same to Lance. His _friend_. The Paladins didn’t understand. This was why Keith didn’t have friends.

“Keith,” Lance was saying again, but Keith shook his head because whatever else the human said didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t feel the press of a collar around his neck, but the light weight of his translator was gone, too. Of course they would take it away from him. Tactically, it made the most sense. If he could think properly, he could figure out what was going to happen next. These were his people. He knew their strategies—their strengths.

Lance was hitting his foot against the ground to get Keith’s attention, but he couldn’t focus.

Had they done something to his wings? The way he was pressed against the chair, he couldn’t tell. Would he be able to fly? Would he be grounded? _Would it be permanent?_

. . . Where was Shiro?

“ _Keith._.”

Keith finally glanced up again as his chest heaved, as his lungs screamed for air, as he wanted to screech _but he wasn’t going to scream_ , but didn’t have the strength for it.

Lance seemed to have realized that words weren’t going to work because he hooked Keith’s gaze and pulled in a deep breath. Then let it out slowly. And repeated the process, again and again, concern pulling Keith in deep to drown in those blue eyes. When he sniffed the air, tentatively this time, it was as if Lance was trying to push _calm_ across the room toward him.

It was hard, maybe the hardest thing he’d done in a while, forcing himself to focus only on Lance’s breathing.

Keith’s hands were still unsteady, squeezed as they were behind his back, but he could breathe. He could think.

Some of the tension eased in Lance’s face and the room smelled like relief.

Keith didn’t have time to panic. Even if the need for it still trailed beneath his skin, threatening to squeeze too tightly if the wrong thought crossed his mind. There were more important things to focus on. He needed to get Lance out of there.

\- - -

Lance hadn’t seen Keith like this since that very first day, when the alien had pinned him down in the shuttle looking the kind of furious that only stemmed from being scared. 

“Keith, buddy, it’s going to be okay. You’re okay,” Lance said, hoping that if nothing else his tone would make Keith feel a little better. 

After Keith had been knocked out, Lance had been forced to drop his bayard and shuck off his helmet before being thrown to the ground. His face still smarted where he’d made impact. Just barely he’d been able to see Thace pull the translator from Keith’s ear, handing it to one of the other winged aliens who’d swooped down on them. Not only were the Paladins outnumbered, they couldn’t exactly fight back without proving to Keith’s people that they weren’t there with peaceful intentions.

Even if it’d been the enemy who’d grabbed them, Lance wasn’t sure if he would have fought. Keith was so limp, when two of the aliens half-dragged him between them. They would be able to hurt him before Lance or Shiro could get over to him. Their hands were cuffed, bayards in the hands of their captors, before they ended up blindfolded.

Lance really hadn’t liked that part.

By the time they’d pulled the cloth from his eyes—ungently, not without ripping out quite a few hairs in the process—Lance had been tied up across from an unconscious Keith and Shiro had been _gone_.

“Keith,” Lance said again when it seemed like the alien was slowly suffocating. It looked like the attacks Shiro got sometimes, after a particularly bad day. Hunk, too, when his anxiety spiked. Lance wished he could have just freed them both, carded his hands through Keith’s feathers, wrapped him in something soft far away from this tiny, dingy room.

The door opened suddenly enough to startle both of them.

“Comfortable?” Thace asked absently, eyeing Lance and Keith as if to make sure they were each still in one piece.

“Where’s Shiro?” Lance demanded. Keith hissed, teeth bared, but the flash in his violet eyes seemed wary.

“He’s here,” Thace said, which wasn’t an answer at all. Clasping his hands behind his back, he stepped forward until the door slid shut behind him. The tips of his lavender wings trailed on the scuffed tiles that covered the floor. The space felt too tight for the three of them, but there was more than enough room to keep him out of Lance’s reach.

“Bring him here and let us go,” Lance demanded, eyes tracking Thace as he circled behind Keith. “Give Keith back his translator so we can negotiate an alliance. Like we came here to do.”

Neck straining, Keith tried and failed to keep Thace in his line of vision. The growl in his throat broke off into something closer to a whine.

“I believe you’ve already made yourselves an alliance,” Thace said. “How long have you been working with the enemy?”

“The Vidorians?” Lance blinked. _Right_. Keith had assumed that at first, too. After all, they were the only ones on planet with the tech to contact some outside forces. It was strange that the Vidorians were only called _enemy_ , as if that was the only proper term for them. As if everything on this planet was always a struggle between _them_ and _us_. Things probably hadn’t been too civil between the two sides even before the fighting started. “We don’t work for them. Actually, when we met Keith, we were patching up their communications mainframe before we knew about this whole conflict. So we—”

He broke off as Thace reached for one of Keith’s wings. As soon as his fingers brushed against feathers, Keith flinched bodily, chair screeching against the ground. But there was nowhere for him to go. Thace plucked a dark feather from the curve of Keith’s wing and then flicked it aside, letting it drift softly, silently to the ground.

“You contradict yourself. You _have_ been working for them. How long have you been working for them?” Thace asked.

“No—wait. That isn’t what I meant. We offered to help with their tech problems, but we didn’t even know about—we thought they were the only ones living on this planet. They never even mentioned your people! We didn’t know they existed until we met Keith. Accidentally met Keith. He told us the truth,” Lance said, leaning forward, pulse thudding in his neck.

Thace’s hand didn’t leave Keith’s wing and the younger alien’s eyes were nearly closed, jaw clenched as he strained away as far as the ropes holding him would allow.

Thace reached lower, yanking out a scarlet feather this time. Lance knew that it would only feel like a pinch—Keith was constantly picking out feathers that were bent, or ones he thought were ugly. But Thace gave Lance a smile that wasn’t really a smile at all.

“How long have you been working with the enemy?” Thace repeated. “You see, we can do this for a while. So many feathers to pull. But I dislike wasting my time. Will you talk faster if I start with the flight feathers?”

Quickly, too quickly, Thace’s grip on Keith changed as he tore out a long, dark feather from the bottom of Keith’s wings. It seemed to spark something inside the younger alien, who would have fallen forward if Thace hadn’t grabbed hold of the chair he was tied to. Feet kicking against the ground, against the chair legs, Keith screeched. But he couldn’t pull free of the restraints—his wings twitched ineffectively where they were pinned against his chair. Thace grabbed his chin, nails digging into Keith’s skin.

“Be quiet!” Thace demanded. “You’ll have your own chance to answer my questions when I’m through with him. But without any feathers, I’m not sure what I’ll need to pluck from him to get you to—”

“No, Keith!” Lance shouted, but the alien had already wriggled free of Thace’s grip—enough to lunge forward and sink his sharp teeth into the soft bits of the other alien’s hand.

They struggled, blood trickling down Keith’s chin, jaw clenched as he refused to let Thace free. Lance shouted—for help, for Keith. It took a few good hits to the jaw to force Keith to loosen his bite enough for Thace to pull his hand away.

Lance allowed himself to feel a hollow sort of panic, at the way Thace glared. How had this all gone so terribly wrong?

“Don’t hurt him,” Lance said hurriedly, words climbing over each other. “Don’t hurt him, alright? Let’s—we’ll talk. I’ll talk to you.”

The words were for Thace but Lance couldn’t look away from Keith who sat there, jaw slackened, looking slightly dazed. The other alien’s hands curled into tighter fists. How hard had he hit Keith? Would he do it again?

It was impossible to know what Thace would do next. But in the next moment, it sounded like something slammed bodily into the door. All three glanced toward it, before the noise came again. And again. The pounding sounded like sheer fury.

Keith, teeth dripping scarlet, lifted his head and tentatively sniffed the air.

The door burst inward with a flurry of hot air and feathers. The figure there was tall, but lean like Keith, and winged—with wings like Keith, too. All red and grey and black feathers. Shorter hair, eyes that nearly gleamed yellow.

Keith shouted something, and the alien snarled.

“What are you doing—” Thace didn’t have the opportunity to finish the sentence, before the newcomer grasped him by the shoulder and waist, tossing him out into the hallway.

She shouted something that sounded particularly horrifying to Lance, who wasn’t sure if things had just gotten much better, or much worse.

\- - -

“What the hell do you think you’re doing to my son?” she shouted, showing all of those sharp, deadly teeth.

“Mom,” Keith said again as she growled through the doorway. His wings hurt and his eyes—he couldn’t quite focus because part of him was afraid this wasn’t real, but she was there. She had to be, because Lance could clearly see her, from the way he was gaping.

“If you so much as _think_ about stepping inside of this room, your head will be separated from the rest of your body,” she snapped, before attempting to shut the door. She had of course broken it, so it only sat there crookedly in the frame.

It looked like her entire body shuddered then, like she was almost afraid to look behind her.

When her eyes met his, he could see all that time he’d been missing and presumed dead was trapped behind her resolve.

“Keith,” she said, except she didn’t call him that, not really. Krolia used his name, his true name, the one that humans had trouble with. Then she was striding over to him, pulling a blade from her belt and sawing away at the restraints around his wrists.

When they broke away, his hands felt too numb and his wings felt clumsy, but it didn’t matter. Keith had never thought that he’d see her again. Even knowing he’d return to his planet, he’d realized there was a very good chance she might have died while he’d been space. Too far away to help. He’d wondered if he would feel it across all of that distance, if he’d lost her.

“We thought you were dead,” Krolia said and something in her voice broke. She touched her forehead to his and when his wings twitched forward, hers curled over them. For a moment it was only him and his mother and the safe space between their feathers. “After you were taken, we assumed you’d be lost like the others. It’s been so long.”

Keith’s shoulders slumped and his jaw clenched, trying to ignore the moisture gathering by his eyes. Nearly every day he’d been gone, he’d thought about how he might die out there in space, and his family would never know that he’d even left the planet. It wasn’t worse than dying in an enemy laboratory, but it had been its own kind of torture.

“I missed you,” Keith said, because he’d never really been very good with words. _I missed you_ was also supposed to mean _I’m sorry_ and _I love you_ and _please, I don’t want to leave again_. “I came back as soon as I could, Mom. I never expected to even make it this far.”

When Krolia leaned back, wings still tucked tight around him, Keith saw there were tears hiding near her eyes, too.

“I’m sorry that you had to come back to this. It would have been better if you could have returned because the war was over,” Krolia scowled. “But now we have idiots like Thace throwing my own son into holding cells with . . .”

Her gaze flicked over her shoulder, but neither of them could see Lance through the shield of their wings.

“He’s a human,” Keith pronounced carefully. “A friend. His people have important tech and they’ve agreed to help us. They’re the ones who helped me escape from the enemy. Without Lance and the others I never would have made it out.”

“I trust you, Keith,” Krolia said, bumping her forehead against his again. “Besides, the proof is right here. I’m still not certain that I won’t murder Thace for this. He didn’t damage you too badly?”

She reached up to push her fingers against his jaw but Keith waved her away. The pain wasn’t so bad.

“No. But, Mom—we can’t let anyone hurt Lance. Or—Shiro! There’s another human here. We need to get him,” Keith said, feathers ruffled as he realized that the other Paladin certainly didn’t have anyone bursting in to help him. And that . . . Lance hadn’t exactly been freed either. When Keith lowered his wings, he saw Lance pretending not to be watching the two of them. 

As badly as Keith wanted to stay there wrapped in his mother’s wings, there was work to do.

“Don’t worry. They probably sent Slav in to question him, so he’ll be . . . fine,” Krolia said while Keith took one of her knives, walking over to cut Lance free.

Both of the aliens winced. Talking to Slav was its own kind of torture.

Lance tipped his head back to watch Keith as he sliced through the restraints at his wrists. Keith wanted to ask if he was alright, and what he’d said to Thace. He wanted to demand the Paladins teach him how to speak their stupid human language so that this translator wouldn’t be an issue anymore. 

“Lance?” he said carefully around his teeth. 

When Lance smiled, the sting in Keith’s wings and jaw dulled and he couldn’t help but glance away.

“Keith,” Lance said, shaking out his hands. Where the restraints had cut into his wrists the skin was red and angry, but Lance only flexed his fingers a few times before tucking a hand against Keith’s wing. And continuing to talk, even though Keith and Krolia had no idea what he was saying.

Heaving an enormous sigh, Lance stood and Keith steadied him, when it seemed like his legs were too stiff to hold him. Then Lance’s hands were in his feathers, tugging on them while he continued to exclaim about _something_ until he seemed to be satisfied.

Oh. He’d thought that Keith was hurt. A few plucked feathers had never hurt anyone but when Thace had threatened his flight feathers, threatened to do worse, Keith had felt like he was going to fall apart. Even then he didn’t want to look up at the bright, buzzing lights.

“I’m fine, Lance,” Keith said with some exasperation, moving the Paladin’s hand so it was tucked more gently into the arch of his wing.

When he looked up, Krolia was staring at them.

“Mom—”

She waved a hand, wings hugging more tightly to her back.

“What? Nothing. I’m just very curious about what has happened over the last few months and _why you’re letting him touch your wings_ ,” Krolia said, narrowing her eyes at him. She seemed to be enjoying this too much.

Keith hoped he wasn’t blushing, but realized he’d failed when Lance prodded his cheek.

“No! It isn’t—Lance—humans don’t . . . There’s no wings. They don’t have any, so I just . . . uh.” Keith couldn’t quite come up with a good enough excuse. Yes, the Paladins knew nothing about his kind and their customs. No, he hadn’t bothered to explain anything. Yes, Lance was the one who always helped with preening the feathers closest to his back and yes, sometimes when they were walking close to one another Lance was touching his wings.

It didn’t mean anything. Not the way it should have.

“Uh-huh,” Krolia said lightly, before going over and pulling apart the rest of the already deteriorating door. There was no trace of Thace there. If he knew what was good for him, he’d never be in the same room as Krolia again. Keith was proud of how terrifying his mother was. “I’ll find a way to ask him about it myself.”

“Mom!” Keith snapped when he saw the edge of her smile. She was _really_ enjoying this and he couldn’t say that he blamed her. Lance was still hanging onto his wing and Keith thought—maybe he was enjoying this, too.

\- - -

“I’m so glad to see that you’re both okay,” Shiro said, clasping Keith and Lance’s shoulders. “After they separated us, I thought—well, it doesn’t matter now. It’s good to know that it was all a misunderstanding.”

It hadn’t taken long to raid the room filled with their pilfered belongings, taking the translators, the helmets and bayards, and Keith’s sword. Shiro hadn’t been very far, either, just down the hall. He’d been restrained as well, but Slav had been in the middle of some kind of rant. It wasn’t even clear if he’d asked Shiro any questions instead of just expounding on the unlikeliness of these events.

Still, Keith could see the strain still lingering in Shiro’s face. He knew what it was like to fear that the past was repeating itself. If Keith had panicked so strongly with Lance right there with him, he wasn’t sure how things would have gone if he’d woken up alone.

“My son has told me about what you did to save him,” Krolia said, extending her hand to clasp Shiro’s forearm. “I apologize for the terrible decisions my colleagues have made. It won’t happen again. Whatever you need, I would like to offer my help.”

“I need to get to the coordinates for our rendezvous point. It’s where we planned to send up a signal if everything went according to plan, to let the others know they should come down,” Shiro said with a wry twist of his lips. “Of course, not everything worked out the way that we thought it would. Maybe it isn’t safe to—”

“Nothing will happen to your other friends. Well. No harm will come to them from my people. I can promise you that much,” Krolia said. 

As one of the higher-ranking members of the resistance, she certainly had the pull to guarantee that much. So when Shiro glanced toward Keith for confirmation, he nodded. 

“We’ll be back with the others as soon as possible,” Keith said, more confident now with the familiar weight of a blade at his hip. Hopefully he would have no reason to use it, but he wasn’t going to be caught off guard. Not again.

Krolia looked like she was going to grab him by the wings and lock him in a nest somewhere deeper underground.

“ _We_? No. You’re staying here. It’s too dangerous for you to be wandering through the forest right now,” Krolia said. It was her way of saying _I can’t lose you, not again, not yet_. “You stay here, with Lance. I’ll go with Shiro. It’ll show the others some goodwill, anyway.”

“But—”

Krolia silenced him with a look, before turning on Lance.

“If anything happens to Keith while I’m gone, I _will_ kill you. Alliance or not,” Krolia said.

Keith thought it funny that Lance tried to shuffle a little further behind his feathers, when really Krolia smelled like she was teasing. Maybe that didn’t show through as well on her face.

“I won’t let anything happen to him again. You can count on me,” Lance said, chest puffing with a little pride.

Still, Keith could smell that his mother made Lance nervous. It was . . . cute.

\- - -

“You really have all of this underground?” Lance asked Keith after they were shown out of the more aggressively designed portion of the base to the living quarters. They were under strict orders not to leave, with Keith specifically told not to do anything impulsive. That made Lance smile—clearly his mother knew him well. “How far down are we?”

“A few stories, maybe. There are facilities that go much deeper than this one,” Keith said, shaking out his wings until they nearly dragged on the floor behind him. “It’s safer if more of our operations are here. You can sleep, eat, and train here. Some leave to scout the forest, like Thace. Others only leave when they’re assigned a mission, like me. The civilians live elsewhere. They . . . don’t really get to go topside much, at all.”

Lance glanced away from Keith. There were a few lights switched on in the corners of this room but it was still dim, shadowed. The interrogation room and the halls they’d traversed had been brightly lit but that artificial, fluorescent light felt strong enough to give him a headache. There were no windows, no skylights. Everything smelled stale and musty to Lance; he couldn’t imagine how much worse it was with Keith’s sense of smell.

“We have a few training areas where we can get out and stretch our wings a little. Practice maneuvers,” Keith said, watching Lance. His violet eyes gleamed sharp in what little light they had. “Some of the civilian bases have them, too. But there’s never enough room for any real flying. And the fledglings . . . they don’t take very well to living like this. The ones that do survive, they don’t—they can’t—they aren’t strong enough, to fly.”

Wings slumping, Keith sat on the edge of the thin mattress placed on the ground. Covered in a few blankets and cushions, it was a sorry excuse for a nest compared to what Lance had seen Keith create for himself in the Castle-ship.

Lance tried to imagine being born with wings and then never having the chance to see the sky. Living in a small room like this, with a bare-bones nest and only a few electric lights. He eased down to sit next to Keith.

“Hey, buddy. I know things here have been . . . terrible. That’s an understatement. But Voltron is here to help now. No matter what comes next, we’re here to support all of you. Even if Thace did pluck a few of your feathers,” Lance frowned, reaching for a wing. But they were tightly hugged against Keith’s back, tensely held in place.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” Keith admitted. It sounded like it hurt him, to say so out loud. “I appreciate your help, more than anything. I swear. But we’ve already . . . We lost so much. So much of the forest is gone. Even if I hadn’t met you, if the fight went on this way, my people would lose. We’d die out before they even made it this far into the trees to kill us. There aren’t so many of us left, anymore.”

His head dipped lower, until Lance could see the longer hair at the back of his back, tangling with the few feathers that grew there. The skin around Keith’s eyes was drawn tight with a scowl, but Lance didn’t need to be able to smell emotions to know that there was real worry behind it.

“We can’t go back and change the past,” Lance said, hesitating before he touched Keith’s shoulder. “But we’re here to make sure that you don’t lose what you still have. Your people will survive. No matter what.”

Lance could see Keith looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Finally, gradually, the stiffness in his wings loosened.

“I’ll make it up to you all, somehow,” Keith promised. “After.”

Lance smoothed down a feather that was red as a blushing sunset. “Keith, I don’t think you understand what Voltron is about. Helping people doesn’t mean we want them to owe us anything. We want to make sure you’re alright.”

They were quiet for a few moments, as Lance pulled his fingers across Keith’s wing. It was impossible to even find the gaps where Thace had pulled them out; there were so feathers many that it made Lance’s stomach twist as he thought about how long their interrogation could have lasted if Krolia hadn’t shown up. What Thace might have moved onto, after all of the flight feathers were gone. What he might have done to Lance, who had no wings.

“ _Are_ you alright?” Lance asked quietly. Mostly he expected a quick response, something snapped and angry that would insist that Keith was fine and only needed Lance to leave him alone. Instead, Keith’s wing twitched, so that it pressed a little harder into the curve of Lance’s hand.

“Yeah,” Keith said after a moment, in a kind of defeated tone that wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Uh-huh,” Lance said without pressing it any farther. He’d leave that to Krolia, after she brought back the other Paladins. “Your wing doesn’t hurt?”

“It’s just a few lost feathers. Unimportant ones. You know that it happens all of the time,” Keith said, tipping his head to the side to look at Lance fully.

Right. It happened all the time on the Castle-ship, but what _didn’t_ happen all the time involved a bird-brained maniac tying Keith down after he’d already had the pleasure of being scarred for life when the enemy took him away to some insane laboratory.

Plan B, then. If Keith didn’t want to open up about his _feelings_ , Lance was going to distract him.

“Your mom seems really nice,” Lance said, twisting a little gray feather around his finger. “I’m glad that we had the chance to meet her. She seemed a little weirded out by me touching your wings.”

Maybe it was his imagination, but the tips of Keith’s ears were turning red.

“She was surprised to see me coming back from the dead,” Keith muttered.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s all it was. So it wouldn’t make any difference if I groomed them a little during our big, important meeting, filled with plenty of your alien friends, and the leaders of the Blade of Ma—Mar—I don’t remember. In front of the important people. They wouldn’t care at all?” Lance asked innocently, giving a different feather a sharper tug.

Keith’s wings shifted, so suddenly that Lance was nearly knocked onto the floor. They curved around him, almost protectively, but not before the Paladin saw a distinctive blush scrawled across Keith’s cheeks.

“Keith?” Lance called, drawing out his name. It was too fun to tease him, and they did need to learn more about alien cultures anyway. Besides, Keith blushing made something lurch in Lance’s chest. “That isn’t an answer.”

The alien mumbled something under his breath, low enough for Lance not to catch the meaning of the words.

“What was that, Keith?” Lance leaned closer, pressing his side against Keith’s wing and trying to peer over it. All he could see was raven hair and soft feathers. “You want me to find someone else and ask them if they need help with their—”

“No!” Keith moved again and this time he did knock Lance down, onto the mattress. There was a growl in his throat and the human blinked up at him. This felt a little too much like their meeting, when Keith had sprung from the shadows to pin Lance to the shuttle floor. Then, the Paladin’s heart had been racing for a completely different reason. “Don’t touch anyone else’s wings, Lance. It’s . . . rude.”

Lance shifted, trying to push Keith off of him, but the alien curling his fingers into the blankets between them, locking him in place over Lance’s hips.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, okay? It was—there was no one else to help me preen, in space,” Keith said, gaze dipping away from Lance. But there was nowhere else to look; Keith’s wings were spread behind them, blocking out the rest of the room with a sheet of red and gray and black.

“And if it did mean something?” Lance asked, fighting to keep his voice steady. He refused to look away, taking it as a challenge that Keith was definitely losing. “What would happen then?”

Keith shifted closer, the violet cosmos in his eyes hidden as they narrowed. His face dipped lower, until his nose brushed gently against the crook of the human’s neck.

Lance wondered what his emotions smelled like to Keith, right then.

Shifting, blankets pulling beneath them, Keith’s eyes were above Lance’s—close, so _close_. There was confusion in them, and surprise, and his sharp teeth poked out a little while he stared.

“Preening is saved for families. Sometimes close friends. Usually, it’s for . . . something like . . . the people who are . . .”

It looked a little like Keith was going to spontaneously combust right there, with the effort it was taking him to speak. Lance shifted, digging an elbow beneath him to prop himself up enough that his nose bumped against Keith’s.

“People who are—”

Someone knocked on the door.

The words died in Lance’s throat and Keith startled away so quickly that with a flutter of his wings, he was on the other side of the room.

Allura opened the door, beaming at them both. The others were crowded in the narrow hall behind her. “We’re prepared to begin our negotiations for an alliance. Lance, please, I understand that you may be tired, but there is no time to rest.”

Lance, still mostly frozen where he’d been sprawled out across the nest because of Keith, could only sigh and let his head fall back against the blankets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehehehehehe
> 
> you can find me over on [twitter](http://twitter.com/kaylawhitwrites) or [tumblr](http://imreadingabook.tumblr.com) if you ever want to chat and/or scream with me over these idiots. 
> 
> just watch me casually make each of these chapters longer than the last to fit all of this in.
> 
> thank you again for all of your comments!!


	15. Climb

Lance and Keith were acting strange, and Pidge couldn’t figure out why. Maybe because the two had just survived a traumatic experience together, but it seemed like _everything_ involving Keith was usually at least a little dangerous. In the Castle-ship they were all over each other, sparring or fighting, messing around with Keith’s wings. During their big negotiation, the two couldn’t have sat any farther apart from each other.

There was a long table filling most of the room that looked like it’d been carved from one of those enormous trees outside. The Paladins and Coran crowded one side of the table; Keith, his mother, and a few other representatives of the Blades of Marmora sat across from them. All of them were wearing Pidge’s translators; she was pleased to see them working so well, and to find out that no one was destroying them quite as often as Keith could.

Yes, she was a little smug knowing these negotiations wouldn’t have been able to happen without her.

“Keith says that you come from another planet far from here,” Kolivan, one of the leaders of the Blades, said as he leaned forward. “You call yourselves defenders of the universe?”

“It’s less like we decided that’s who we are than a title that’s been thrust upon us,” Lance said, crossing his arms behind his head. “It’s the burden we have to bear.”

Definitely strange, because Keith looked down the table toward Lance with this gleam in his eyes that said he wanted to murder him—or at least do _something_ to him. When he noticed Pidge looking, Keith’s gaze immediately snapped back to Kolivan, feathers ruffled. _Interesting_. 

“My son has told you the details of our predicament,” Krolia said, spreading her fingers out across the tabletop. Like most of the others, her wings were hugged tightly against her back. Pidge had observed Keith doing that on the Castle-ship, whenever he was trying to concentrate, or if he was worried. It’d been a constant motion after they’d first found him. “How will Voltron help us?”

“Our first hope is to approach the Vidorians peacefully,” Allura said. “Perhaps with us backing you, they will be encouraged to end this conflict before further harm can come to either side.”

“The enemy does not have much to gain by calling a truce with us,” Kolivan shook his head. “They wouldn’t get our territory, then—our resources. They would still need to deal with us. They _know_ we’ve been struggling. Even if they agreed to a treaty, there’s no guarantee it wouldn’t be broken as soon as Voltron is off-planet.”

“Then we would return,” Allura said, before gesturing toward Pidge, who blinked owlishly. “Pidge will leave you with the means to contact us if you ever find yourselves in need of our assistance again. You will not be left alone in the universe.”

“It’s a fairly simple device to use, especially because the Vidorians have their communications system up and running again so I can back our communication devices onto that,” Pidge said. At least there was something she could provide to the discussion, even if it wasn’t strategy or pure strength. It was nice, to be needed, to be able to help. “It’ll give you a direct line to—”

“It won’t matter,” Keith interrupted, and the look he gave her was almost apologetic. “Things here are worse than I’d thought, Pidge. If the enemy continues to fight after Voltron is gone . . . Maybe they’ll wait until you’re a few galaxies away. Maybe until you’re busy with some other fight. What are you going to do if you’re in the middle of your war and we need you? There aren’t enough of us left to hold out—to wait. We’re . . . dying.”

Pidge had seen the numbers, and she knew Keith was right. They had bare bones outdated technology out in the forest, so it had only taken a few keystrokes for her to dig into their electronic records. So many lists, of supplies and reinforcements, casualties and civilians. A list for those missing. A list for those assumed dead. Keith’s name had still been marked on it; Pidge hadn’t been able to keep herself from looking for it among hundreds of others.

His people weren’t doing well. Even if the war had ended at that very moment, they would still struggle to survive. At some point soon, the damage would be irreparable. Keith’s people would just be _gone_. 

“We need a way to defend our outposts. A show of force, so that they’ll fear retaliation if they came for us again,” Ulaz said. He was one of the quieter members they’d met, with wings that were so dark a purple they nearly looked black.

“We would prefer to hold off on further violence, if possible,” Shiro started, before Krolia held up a hand.

“And so would we. Unfortunately, we have seen that no alternatives work with the enemy. They are perfectly happy to continue with their destruction until they get what they want,” Krolia said. “By approaching them with offers of peace, you would be giving away any advantage that Keith bringing you here may have handed us.”

“And we understand that. But their war is not with us. Not yet. Maybe that will help them see things through a new perspective,” Shiro said earnestly. “We need to at least try.”

“It may not matter, in any case,” Kolivan sighed. “Surely someone would have noticed your ship landing in the forest. The enemy will know you’re here. They’ll be forming their own plan as well.”

Pidge figured she probably had a long night ahead of her trawling through the Vidorians’ communications network. It wasn’t like she’d even need to hack in, because she’d been the one to rebuild it.

“Perhaps for the moment we may settle on creating a better defense, rather than arguing the points of a better offense. Ensuring everyone’s safety is our first priority,” Allura determined.

At least no one could argue with that, even if it meant the Paladins would be splitting up. Again.

Krolia insisted that Keith stay at the Blades outpost and no one even thought to argue with her. Pidge knew how she’d felt when her father and brother were still missing; if given the opportunity, she never would have let them out of her sight again after they’d been reunited. More curiously, though, Krolia requested that Lance remain there as well, to supposedly _keep an eye on Keith_.

For whatever reason, that made Lance look . . . scared.

Pidge was staying too, as this was the place with the best tech and she already knew she was going to end up spending most of her time deep in their systems.

Coran would wait on the Castle-ship, monitoring from above.

But Shiro, Allura, Hunk—they’d all head toward the civilians. To shore up their defenses, and reassure them that their entire world wasn’t going to fall apart anytime soon.

“I will escort you there,” Ulaz offered to Shiro, as others began to stand and drift away from the table. Too many voices echoed around the small space. “Then they will see that you are all . . . friendly.”

Pidge was beginning to understand Keith a little more, too. Maybe that grumpiness wasn’t all because of the whole capture-and-torture thing he went through, because the Blades all seemed so _serious_. No fun allowed whatsoever. Ready to kill anyone who strolled into their forest the wrong way.

Pidge just hoped they would take the Paladins seriously as well. Otherwise it wouldn’t matter what plan they decided on, because it would be too late.

\- - -

“Keith. Hey. Keith.”

When he finally glanced up, doing his level best not to glare, Shiro was standing in front of him. Keith scented the air and frowned at the nervous pity rolling off of the oldest Paladin. He continued to stare at the human, while Shiro sat down next to him.

The rest of the room was chaos. Krolia talking to the other Blades about how they’d divide themselves between the civilian and military bases; Lance hooking his arms around Hunk’s neck and clinging to his back while they said goodbye. Pidge was adjusting Kolivan’s translator, nearly swamped in his wings as he knelt so that she could actually reach the device. There were so many words, there was so much activity, and the overbearing thought that all of it would probably turn out to be . . . pointless.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t get the chance to speak to you before all of this,” Shiro said, lips twisting into a rueful smile. Maybe it was supposed to be reassuring. “If you want to, uh, go over what happened earlier—”

Oh. That was why Shiro wanted to speak to him.

Keith shifted, trying to resist the urge to tuck his wings closer around him. He hated that the humans were beginning to understand how his wings reflected his mood, hated the way that Shiro was currently looking at him. Like he was something that had been broken and pieced together, and now Keith had fallen so Shiro needed to check to make sure that he hadn’t cracked again.

“I don’t,” Keith said immediately. It was something that felt better when it was shoved into the corner of his mind to gather dust and be forgotten. He didn’t want to think about bright lights and something tight around his wrists and not being able to move while Lance shouted words he didn’t understand and _there were hands in his feathers, they were doing something to his wings_. “Do you?”

Shiro blinked at him, actually appearing to consider the question. “No,” he answered, eventually.

The silence between them was unquiet, filled with the noise of Paladins and Blades. Coran was trying to regale both sides with a story about a creature no one else had ever heard of. Keith shook out his feathers, pretending to be interested in a gray one that had ended up bent a bit at an odd angle.

“It really wasn’t so bad,” Shiro said eventually. When Keith watched from the corner of his eye, Shiro was looking down at his hands. The metal one curled into a loose fist. “Slav didn’t stop talking long enough for me to say much of anything, so it stopped feeling like an interrogation. Even if I still wanted to get out of there. At first I thought it was some weird kind of alien torture.”

Keith smirked before he could smother that twitch of his lips. His jaw still stung where Thace had hit him, but he’d had worse.

“No one really likes to listen to Slav. He’s been horrible ever since we refused to steal more enemy tech for him to use here. I guess he finally found a captive audience for some of his theories,” Keith said, twisting his feather in his hand. _In, out_. Patience yields focus. “Thace threatened to ground me by pulling out all of my flight feathers. Then he was going to start on Lance. He hadn’t decided what he was going to take from him.”

They were still fighting on the same side, but Keith would be happy if he never saw Thace again. He was fairly certain Krolia felt the same way, which was why he hadn’t been at this meeting. Maybe they’d banish him to some dangerous part of the forest.

“It felt like I couldn’t breathe,” Keith said. It felt like a confession, even though this was Shiro. Even though he already knew. “Again.”

Sometimes on the Castle-ship when everyone was asleep, when Keith didn’t want to wake Lance just to have him hold his wings, when he didn’t want to feel _weak_ , he would go and look at the stars. Sometimes his breath would catch, his throat would close, and it would feel like he was back—back there, in the laboratory, unable to move. Sometimes Shiro was there, telling him to breathe _in, out_. He never told the others what happened. Because sometimes, Shiro went there because he couldn’t breathe, either.

“It was bad, before Slav came in. I’m glad that you had Lance there with you,” Shiro said.

Keith had thought it would be worst for Shiro—alone, tied down, locked in a strange place by aliens who might hurt him. 

“I’m sorry that we couldn’t get you out sooner,” Keith said quietly. “I’m sorry that you came here to help us, and we did that to you.”

“That isn’t your fault, Keith, and you know it. We would have come down here to help even if we’d known how they would react,” Shiro said, before he grinned. “Well, maybe we would have been more alert, so they wouldn’t have taken us down so easily.”

Shiro’s smile changed so that it looked less innocent, and Keith could nearly see how he might have looked with fangs.

“Of course, _I_ wasn’t tackled _twice_ ,” Shiro pointed out while clearing his throat.

“Shut up!” Keith growled, but there was no real bite to it, because the human looked like he was barely restraining a laugh. “Shiro, come on, I—”

“What?” Shiro shrugged. “I’m just reminding you, in case you forgot, that it only happened to me once.”

“It wasn’t a competition!”

“Right. Of course not,” Shiro nodded, shifting to stand. “Because if it had been, you would have lost.”

Shiro laughed, _really_ laughed, when Keith flung up a wing to block his way and started threatening to hang on his neck like how Lance was harassing Hunk. Then they were struggling, as Keith tried to get close enough to mess up Shiro’s hair and the human easily kept away from his reach. Keith couldn’t help the flicker of his lips, the laugh that came out of him, too, at how ridiculous these humans were, and how stupidly nice Shiro was.

Maybe Shiro had learned Keith’s language after all, because while Keith successfully swiped the human’s ankle and brought him down low enough to smother him with a wing, it really felt like they were each saying to each other _I’m okay. We’re okay._

\- - -

“Dude, Keith’s mom is totally staring at you,” Hunk said while he tugged at Lance’s unrelenting grip. The Blue Paladin wasn’t too worried; Hunk was never really able to shake him off. Lance was good at being clingy when he wanted to be.

“No, she isn’t,” Lance said immediately, before glancing over. “Oh. She was looking. She _is_ looking. We definitely just made eye contact. Help?”

“With what? Krolia is . . .” Hunk trailed off, but Lance knew what he meant anyway. She wasn’t the tallest, her wings weren’t the largest, but her presence certainly spoke louder than the other Blades’. She had that kind of stance that said she could kill you in an instant and would never regret it. “Dude. She’s coming over.”

“ _What_?” Lance wouldn’t say he screeched, but Hunk winced because Lance’s mouth was too close to his ear. “Hide me! Help me! Do . . . _something_!”

“Oh, look at the time. I think we need to head over to that other base now! Really, really horrible timing. Anyway. Good luck, Lance,” Hunk said, squirming around until Lance was forced to break his hold on his friend. Otherwise he’d end up looking ridiculous.

Hunk raced off to follow Allura out of the room. _Coward_.

“Lance,” Krolia said and the human tried not to jump, because she was directly behind him.

“Oh! Hey . . . hello,” Lance spun around, trying to look more . . . heroic. He didn’t know why he was rattled so badly, when he’d undoubtedly faced scarier foes and Krolia was their ally. There was no rational reason for his nervousness. “How are—how are you doing?”

“I should be asking you the same thing. You’ve had a more eventful day,” Krolia said before she smiled. Her teeth looked exceptionally sharp. “I wanted to thank you properly for looking after Keith when he was taken.”

“You don’t need to thank me. You don’t need to thank any of us,” Lance said quickly. “It was really a team effort, once Keith started to trust us. I’m just, uh . . . it wasn’t just me.”

“But you’re the one he trusts the most,” Krolia said. Lance wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or if she’d stepped closer. “I’m sure you’ve noticed how impulsive Keith can be. I think that’s why he was taken off his guard by Thace. He wasn’t being cautious enough.”

Lance, who was pretty sure she’d hurt him if he tried backing away at this point, didn’t really want to know where she was going with this.

“You need to look out for him, Lance. I realize that I can’t always be the one who’s there for him, and there aren’t many people around here Keith even likes. I’m a little surprised he didn’t try to kill all of you,” Krolia said.

“Oh, there was just the . . . one time,” Lance said weakly.

When Krolia smiled again it looked a little brighter, less lethal.

“If Keith trusts you, that means he would do anything for you. Including putting himself in danger. Walking into situations like the one with Thace, who obviously saw that you could be used against Keith,” Krolia said. _No feathers on this one. What should I pluck from him?_ “I need you to help me keep him safe.”

Lance’s heart stammered for a moment; he hadn’t realized until that moment he’d been terrified she would tell him to stay _away_ from Keith. Which shouldn’t have been a terrible request, as the alien was back with his people, but the thought of leaving him . . .

It didn’t matter. He could do this. Lance nodded.

“Of course,” Lance promised. He wondered if she could smell the truth of it on him. “We came here to make sure that all of you could have a better life. A safe one. I want to make sure Keith has a chance at that, too. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

They shook hands and Lance noticed that Krolia’s wings looked a little less tense.

“Good,” Krolia said. “I never imagined I would need to ask this of someone without any wings. Very different than what I pictured for Keith, but you’ll do fine. Are you sure the two of you are being—”

“ _Mom_.”

Lance immediately scooted a little closer to Keith to let him absorb some of Krolia’s intensity. He wondered why all of Keith’s feathers were ruffled as the alien triedfinger-combing his long hair back into place. 

“What?” Krolia responded, clasping her hands behind her back, smile growing. “I’m just getting to know Lance. Am I not allowed to speak to him?”

“No,” Keith answered, grabbing onto Lance’s arm and dragging him away.

\- - -

One day bled into the next, each trailing after the other like they were stuck together and speeding along toward some inevitable collision.

It felt wrong at first, not to have that longing for home anymore, but Keith kept himself too busy to think about that. There were drills to run and briefings to go to where the Blades asked Keith too many questions about space and the laboratories until he wanted to tear all their throats out. There were trips to the mess hall where Lance stuck close to his side and Pidge fiddled with electronics in the corner and screeched if anyone jostled her table. Supplies needed to be catalogued, Krolia wanted to spend time together, Thace decided to show his face again and was cold-shouldered by most of the mess hall.

Krolia, casually asked if Lance and Keith would share a room because quarters were tight. Keith said he would sleep in a training room if he had to.

Lance was a constant presence, asking if Keith would be okay alone—if he needed to talk—if he wanted to go to the training rooms and hit something. It would turn into a competition—who could get there faster, who could train longer, who could pin the other first when they sparred.

Keith felt the exhaustion in his legs whenever he paced and in his arms when they shook because he remembered how tightly his hands had been bound behind his back. More than once he nearly fell asleep in the mess hall, waking up with Lance’s hand patting his jaw and the Blades staring, always staring. His body was tired, but his mind wouldn’t settle. His wings ached with it, straining toward a sky he hadn’t seen in a week. Wanting to unfurl in a space larger than a training room, wanting to _fly_.

It felt like he was waiting for something terrible to happen and no one else would acknowledge it.

“Stop. _Keith._.”

There were hands on his, stilling him, _restraining him he couldn’t move he couldn’t think_ — 

“You’re alright. It’s just me.”

Lance. 

Keith had been hitting something, and Lance had been watching, until everything had dissolved into white noise and now there was blood on his knuckles, blood on Lance’s fingers where he held onto him—

“Just me and you. You know I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, right? Not here. Not anywhere.”

Right. Sure. Keith knew that, but somewhere between one punch and the next, he’d forgotten. Where he was, what he’d done, who was really there with him.

“Did I hurt you?” Keith asked. His voice sounded strange, like it didn’t belong to him anymore.

“No. Of course not,” Lance said, before he glanced over his shoulder. “I thought you might break the training room, though.”

Following his gaze, Keith saw the bag he’d been punching had been ripped out of the ceiling. There were a few new dents in the wall; that explained why his hands hurt so badly.

“Are you back here with me, now?” Lance asked and when Keith nodded, he tightened his grip on Lance’s hands so he couldn’t pull them away. “Keith?”

“I just . . . We’re just sitting here, Lance. Waiting for the enemy to pick us off one by one, _again_ ,” Keith said slowly. He felt like he’d just woken from a terrible dream only to find himself enveloped in another level of a nightmare. “I want to do something. I want to stop sitting here.”

“Dude, you’ve done more than almost anyone else at this point. Did you forget that you single-handedly negotiated the first intergalactic alliance your people have ever been a part of?” Lance asked, giving Keith that look that told him he was an idiot. “I mean, sure, it could have started out way better, but look at the hope you’ve given your people.”

“But I could be out there. Outside! Getting more supplies, or—or patrolling. Fighting. Not hiding underground,” Keith said. There was that itch in his veins, to move and hunt and fly, that made him remember why he’d started hitting things in the first place.

“Right. Sure, you could. Is that what you think we’re all doing down here? Hiding?” Lance asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Is that why Shiro and the others went to the civilian base? So they could hide?”

“No, but—”

“Then don’t hold yourself to different standards than everyone else. If you want me to stand here and list all of the useful things you’ve been doing right in your face, I will. But _that_ would be a waste of time, because you should be able to figure that out on your own,” Lance said. Keith could smell the frustration rolling off him, gathered on the Paladin’s skin.

It made Keith want to shout at him, but instead he only showed his fangs a little. But that never even brought a satisfying spike of fear from Lance anymore.

“When’s the last time you let yourself sleep?” Lance asked, frustrated stare deepening when Keith faltered.

He’d been _busy_ , but with useless things. Sitting in his room in his sorry excuse for a nest only made Keith think about buzzing, bright lights and words choking in his throat. About how Lance was down the hall, Pidge on the other side of the base, the others even farther away.

Keith looked at their hands instead of into those stormy eyes, when he spoke. It felt like his words were weakness and bravery all at once.

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please forgive me if these scenes seem rushed, I'm trying to balance heading toward the final arc and showing a bit of day in the life on Vidoria. I've updated the anticipated number of chapters based on what I have planned for them.
> 
> you can find me over on [twitter](http://twitter.com/kaylawhitwrites) or [tumblr](http://imreadingabook.tumblr.com) if you want to say hello or wonder what Keith and Lance might get up to in the next chapter ^.^
> 
> fluff incoming, and then . . . well . . . :)


	16. Crosscheck

Keith felt almost immediately like he’d made a mistake.

Lance was there in his room, not off down the hall, and he was twisting his bayard around in both hands while staring at the blank walls.

“Were they not able to give you back your old room?” Lance asked eventually, the words sticking in the silence between them. “I mean, I guess they would have given it to someone else, because . . .”

His voice trailed off, but Keith knew what he meant. He was getting to be fairly good at guessing the Paladin’s thoughts.

“Because they thought I was dead,” Keith finished. “No. At least, I don’t think anyone else was in here. It didn’t smell like it. This room has been mine since we moved into the base a few years ago.”

His people had always had some facilities underground, tunnels and storage rooms. They were a refuge when the weather turned too cold or terrible storms raged. If they wanted a convenient gathering place where they could feast together, more easily than they could up in the trees. After the war started, places like this had quickly been built into something more practical. Permanent.

Lance stared at the blank walls as if they’d done something offensive.

“You’ve been _here_ that long and all you have to show for it is this?” Lance asked eventually.

“I’ve been a little busy,” Keith snapped, which he knew wasn’t fair. Even Krolia had more personal touches in her room than he did. Lance’s room on the Castle-ship was filled with mementos from the places he’d visited, the people he’d saved. Lance was always busy, too, with Voltron, and had still managed to carve out a space of his own in less time than Keith had spent at the base. “It isn’t that big of a deal, Lance.”

“I mean, it kind of is. I know I teased you a lot for stealing all of those things from around the Castle-ship for your nest, but . . .” Lance pointedly eyed the very sad mattress and rumpled blankets shoved into one dim corner.

Keith wouldn’t say he’d slept easily on the Castle-ship. His nights with Shiro, staring out at the stars, or with Lance pulling his hands through Keith’s feathers, sort of proved that. But those nights were the most comfortable he’d been in a long time. Even before he’d been captured.

“This was stupid,” Keith said, feathers ruffled. Anger seeped into his voice, even worse because he could _smell_ the pity rolling off Lance. Yes, his kind had limited resources. Yes, Keith was too reserved, and had a temper, and wasn’t sentimental enough to form solid attachments to objects that could be taken away from him at any moment. “I shouldn’t have asked you to stay. You can—you can go.”

“Dude,” Lance scoffed before he flopped back onto Keith’s sorry excuse for a nest, probably getting his scent all over the sheets. “You have so many reasons to be emotionally stunted, so I’m totally not judging you. But give me a little more credit. You asked me to be here. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Keith knew that if he truly wanted to, he could haul Lance to his feet and kick him out into the hallway. It wouldn’t really take much effort, because the Paladin wouldn’t fight him if he realized that was what Keith really wanted. The problem, therefore, was that Keith didn’t know what he wanted. He knew that he couldn’t allow himself to be afraid about what was coming for his people. He knew that looking into Lance’s eyes felt like being drowned and rescued all at once. There was a perpetual itch between his wings, as if there was always somewhere else he was meant to be—somewhere better—but he hadn’t figured out the path there yet. He knew that sometimes that feeling of _wrongness_ disappeared, when he was hiding in the lions’ hanger, or when Lance groomed his wings.

They drooped now, just barely brushing against the floor. Keith unhooked his belt, setting his Altean sword next to Lance’s bayard. His weapon was the last thing Keith constantly had with him that was from another planet. That first day, he’d finally shed those oversizing, ill-fitting clothes that the Paladins had gifted him. The Blades wore black, because most of their work against the enemy happened at night. There were streaks of red picked out in rough stitching by his shoulder, a scarlet that matched his wings.

“I haven’t been able to sleep,” Keith admitted, and he scowled when Lance gestured with a hand to say _Go on, I’m not at all surprised_. “It’s like . . . when I was first on your ship. I couldn’t sleep, because I knew that something was going to happen to me. Something terrible. And I didn’t know what it would be, or how long it would last, because the only guarantee was that it would be awful.”

“We proved you wrong. Eventually,” Lance said, folding his legs in front of him while he chewed on his lip. “You realized we aren’t like the Vidorians.”

Keith nodded, slowly. “At least in space, I only had to look after myself. Here there are the other Blades, the civilians. And I came home to find out that my own kind are betraying us. We’re hurting each other just for a chance to live.”

He sighed, folding his hands over his chest. It was an old rant, nothing new, but a fire burned in his chest, one that threatened to rage and spit and consume until everything aroud him had been reduced to ash.

“You can’t control other people, Keith. The ones who’ve decided to go over to the enemy made their own choices. Like, completely terrible ones and the betrayal must be—but, anyway. It’s hard, to remember it’s someone else’s problem, not yours. I had to do that a lot, at home. People have these opinions and beliefs that automatically turn them against you. Sometimes, no matter what you do or how good you are at fighting for what you believe in, you just aren’t going to be able to change someone’s mind,” Lance said, patting the sheets next to him. “You shouldn’t lose sleep over it.”

“I know.”

“Sometimes taking care of yourself is a really nice ‘fuck you’ to the people working against you, too. Why do I you think I keep myself looking so handsome while I’m out in space fighting against the Galra?” Lance asked, smoothing his hand through his hair. “Because I learned years ago that some people out there are willing to hurt you no matter what, so I might as well take care of myself, anyway.”

\- - -

Eventually Lance coaxed Keith into the nest. It was sparse but small, so there wasn’t much room, and their legs ended up tangling together. Keith didn’t pull his away, so Lance didn’t either. He could feel the heat of Keith’s limbs through the alien’s new uniform. Although Keith had certainly pulled off the whole disheveled-morning-after look he’d maintained throughout his stay on the Castle-ship, seeing him in a uniform nearly tailor-made for him was an entirely new experience.

Having a half-asleep Keith’s face less than a foot away from him was a new one, too.

“Stop,” Keith grumbled, violet eyes flickering as Lance tugged at one of Keith’s wings. He’d nearly succeeded in pulling it over himself like a blanket, but could feel the alien’s resistance and all of the feathers were making him feel like he was going to sneeze. “We shouldn’t do that anymore.”

“Why not? Are you embarrassed by me, bird boy? Your mother seems to have gotten the wrong impression about us,” Lance said, but something twisted in his gut.

Keith growled a little, and Lance prodded one of his fangs as soon as it began to poke from between his lips. The surprise that widened those cosmos eyes was worth it.

“I know I’m not the smart one on the ship,” Lance said. “But even I can figure out what you haven’t been telling me, Keith.”

He tried narrowing his eyes, to telepathically convey to the alien that he _sort of didn’t really understand their customs at all but he’d made a few assumptions and hadn’t stopped touching Keith’s wings so really that should mean something_ but Keith’s nostrils only flared a little. It was kind of gross.

“You’re annoying,” Keith said. “You’re giving people the wrong idea.”

“I think your mom likes me,” Lance continued, as if Keith had said nothing at all. “She’s terrifying. She keeps looking at me like she’s going to kill me.”

Eating with one alien on the Castle-ship had been messy enough. Eating in a mess hall filled with creatures like Keith who really didn’t care that they were getting blood everywhere was worse. Krolia’s bloodstained smile was truly the stuff of nightmares.

“She—” Keith stopped himself, growl turning into something more frustrated. Lance was fascinated by the noises he’d managed to force out of him. “Stop talking to her.”

“It isn’t my fault that she keeps coming up to me. Asking how I am, and how you are, and letting me know that they don’t have enough guards left to patrol the halls at night in case I want to sneak to your room—”

“Lance!”

“What? Obviously I haven’t. I was waiting for me to invite me in. You said it yourself that I don’t know enough about what different things mean to your people. The last thing I need is for you to get all territorial and tear my throat out,” Lance said, before he shifted under the wing he’d successfully draped over himself. With a few innocent blinks, he lifted his chin, settling back further against his pillow. “I guess I was wrong. You _like_ that I’m here.”

Keith’s scowl crumpled as he sputtered.

“I mean, yeah. You asked me to come in here because you were all tired and lonely. But even Pidge would be good company if you wanted some, and she’d distract you with all her electronic-y stuff. But you wanted _me_.” He tried to smother the flicker of unease in his chest with false bravado, preferring to seem self-righteously smug, but Lance could have sworn that Keith could smell that lie.

Then Keith was clambering over him, all elbows and feathers, dragging himself out of the nest to get away from Lance.

He didn’t seem mad. He looked . . . defeated. Wings all depressingly slumped, hair mussed from where he’d been lounging in the bed. 

“Yes,” Keith said.

Lance propped himself up in the nest, unbearably cold now that he was alone. “I don’t understand what that—”

“ _Yes_ , Lance. I wanted you to be here. Even if you’re so—” Keith’s fists clutched at the air as if he was strangling it, while an annoyed grunt escaped him. “The others are fine. You’re all . . . fine. You’re my friends, and my mom is just acting weird because I’ve never really bothered to make any friends before. And there you are, always—always being too nice, and grooming my wings for me. Helping me train. And I _hate_ how nice you are. I hate that you’re always making sure that I feel included, and safe. I hate that you don’t think it’s weird when I wake you up in the middle of the night because my wings are hurting and even if someone else tried to help me, you’re the only one who could make me feel . . . safe.”

He looked a little like he was going to hyperventilate.

“I’m sorry,” Keith said. “I didn’t mean to be like . . . this.”

“A grumpy idiot who’s really bad about talking through his emotions?” Lance raised an eyebrow, because he couldn’t really help himself, because his heart was beating too fast. 

“I don’t want to—”

“What? Make me uncomfortable? Make me _angry_? You trust us. You know me. You know I would never get angry about something like this,” Lance said, balling his hand in the sheets before he stood. There was always the chance that something else held Keith back.

Like maybe he’d hadn’t mean to _be like this_ because Lance wasn’t . . . He wasn’t—

“Is it because I don’t have wings?” Lance asked, hating that his voice had gotten quiet. That it felt like it might shake, if he tried to use it again.

Keith’s wings flared then, red and gray and black filling the room while his eyes narrowed. He looked so angry, but the kind of anger that ran too close to being afraid, while he shook his head and stepped forward. While he tucked his hand against Lance’s waist, and the two of them were pressed against one another as if it was a familiar motion.

When Keith kissed Lance, his lips were gentle. Like he was afraid that the fire that roiled in his veins might burn Lance.

When Lance kissed Keith, hand braced against the side of the alien’s neck, there was a roar like ocean waves pounding in his ears.

And his first coherent thoughts were _finally_ and _Keith_ and _I hope this never has to end_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me indulge in gratuitous fluff before getting into the fic's climax ok. I also just really love the idea of keith and lance fighting/frustrated to the point where that's how they reveal they like each other don't @ me
> 
> I love alllll of your comments and honestly they helped me get this chapter out faster than expected so I hope you all will like where this fic is going! the next chapter will probably be another long one :)
> 
> as always you can find me over on [twitter](http://twitter.com/kaylawhitwrites) or [tumblr](http://imreadingabook.tumblr.com) if you want to say hello or predict how long this happiness might last ^.^


	17. Emergency

There was a still a lingering tinge of exhaustion around Lance’s eyes that made them seem brighter, the next morning. Keith couldn’t stop looking at them, because he felt that he was allowed to, now. That he was allowed to stare.

They stood a few feet apart, hands clasped between them.

“Very impressive wingspan,” Lance said, lifting an eyebrow as Keith’s wings curved around him. It might have been annoying, but Keith was feeling surprisingly, exceptionally calm.

Perhaps that was because he’d woken with a Paladin in his nest, carding his fingers through the feathers growing at the base of Keith’s neck. The sheets smelled like Lance. Sometime in the night, the human had pulled his wing over both of them again, so maybe his scent had worked itself down to Keith’s feathers.

“And then, if you had wings, you would lift them so that the arches fit together,” Keith said, tilting his head to the side. If he squinted and tried using the dregs of his imagination, he could picture Lance with wings. Blue like calm ponds. Flight feathers white as clouds. He’d been honest though when he’d answered the human—it didn’t bother Keith that there weren’t any wings on his back. Lance was exactly who he’d always been meant to be.

Shaking off Keith’s grip, Lance lifted his arms over his head and crooked his elbows. His brown skin curved over Keith’s feathers.

“Your wingspan is less impressive,” Keith said bluntly, then tucked his smile against his shoulder while he listened to Lance splutter. 

That morning just after Keith woke, Lance had asked how his kind showed they liked each other. Then he’d started rambling on about how he probably needed to buy Keith some flowers, and talked about dinner and movies, offended that the translator didn’t quite explain to Keith what a _movie_ was. And then they’d kissed, and kissed, because that seemed to translate across species.

“Then I turn my back to you,” Keith said, lowering his wings as he shifted to face a corner of the room. “You’re meant to be impressed by the strength in my shoulders. And it shows that I trust you, and that I’m not planning to attack you.”

“The more I learn about your people, the better I think I understand you,” Lance said. Keith jumped, when he felt fingertips press between his shoulder blades, on that plain of pale skin between his wings. “Promising not to attack each other is very romantic. Of course.”

“Your planet seems very impractical. I don’t see what else there is to know beyond trusting someone and knowing they can protect you,” Keith shrugged, glancing over his shoulder. The look on Lance’s face was morphing into something . . . strange. He was close enough for him to smell the happiness rolling off him. “What?”

“Keith,” Lance said, locking his arms around Keith’s neck, crushing his wings a little against his back. “ _Keith_.”

“What, Lance?” Keith asked, trying not to sound exacerbated, back curiously warm with Lance all pressed up against him like that.

“You think I can protect you,” Lance said into his ear, before the human kissed his cheek. “You think I’m all strong and brave and you trust me because I can protect you, bird boy.”

“Lance,” Keith sighed, though he wasn’t sure he could deny it. That was basically what he’d just told the Paladin. Maybe it was just translating oddly. Somehow he had a feeling that Lance was never going to drop this.

“What was it that did it for you? Us sparring? My sharpshooting? My brilliant mind?” Lance laughed until Keith finally succeeded in squirming enough to get him to let go of his neck.

“I’m not telling you. I’m not talking about this,” Keith insisted.

“I think you’re blushing,” Lance said, trying to turn him around him, grabbing at his wings, his shoulder. “Keith! How long have you been watching me? How long have you been thinking about how hot I look when—”

He broke off, and they both glanced upward, when the lights flickered.

“Pidge said she’d want to take a look at our electric grid when she had a chance,” Keith said. The state of it had elicited another round of ranting from the youngest Paladin when she’d been introduced to the little tech they had available there. He thought that under different circumstances that were decidedly less life-threatening, she would have enjoyed the challenge of creating something better from their limited resources. “Maybe she—”

The lights flared bright again and a muffled _boom_ echoed from above.

Before the alarm started, they were moving.

Keith helped Lance into his armor, then tossed him his bayard. He belted his Altaen sword around his waist, but he also had knives from the armory slipped into his boots, strapped to his forearm. The familiar weight of weapons that had been taken from him when he’d been captured.

When he glanced toward Lance, the ease and laughter had all been drawn from the human’s face. The Paladin looked fierce and brave and, yes, like someone meant to protect others. Keith’s own face felt hot and his chest was tight, when Lance’s fingers brushed against his before they both spilled out into the hallway.

The alarm was louder out there, pulsing against Keith’s ears to the point where they began to ache, and the small space stank of fear. There were Blades hurrying past, dressed in their black uniforms, weapons ready. Feathers stirred by their feet. Some went barefoot; some wore the light shoes that made rough landings a little easier.

Then there was Pidge, a flash of green and white and worry.

“The enemy?” Keith asked and she nodded, pulling them aside in the hall so they wouldn’t be swept aside in the tide of soldiers.

“They’re attacking the base. Communication has been spotty, but I got through to Shiro and he said—he said they’re coming for the civilians, too,” Pidge said. Keith could smell the worry on her, for their friends and the others who were holed up at the other base. The innocents. It was one thing to have the enemy come screaming after him. Another entirely for them to kill fledglings. 

“We’ll need the lions. If they’re attacking from the air, we can put ourselves between the bases and the Vidorians. Draw them away from here,” Lance said.

Pidge nodded. “I don’t think there’s time to waste on peace talks anymore. They’re out there hurting innocent people!”

“They’ve never come this far into the forest before,” Keith said, clenching his fists. “They’ve been too afraid, because they know their casualties will be too great. They must have realized they had no choice but to attack us _now_.”

“Why? Because we’re here?” Lance asked.

“We’re the variable that’s changed,” Pidge said, fiddling with a communicator by her hip. “If the Vidorians believe we’re going to begin working against them, then strategically it makes more sense for them to cut their losses and try to kill us while we’re still out here. Before we have a chance to attack their cities. I thought Coran said we’d made it on-planet undetected.”

“And then Thace said some of my people are willing to tell the Vidorians anything that will buy them some safety,” Keith swallowed down a growl. He wondered if he’d known the person who’d sold them out to the enemy, if he would ever see them again. “I shouldn’t have brought all of you down here. I should have kept you hidden, so—”

“Keith,” Lance stopped him. “You couldn’t have known how things have changed down here while you’ve been gone. It doesn’t matter anymore, not now. We just need to decide what happens next.”

“We get to the shuttle, then get our lions from the Castle-ship while the Blades hold off the Vidorians as long as they can,” Pidge said.

“I’m escorting you to the shuttle, then,” Keith insisted. It wasn’t far, but with Vidorians in the trees and his own people falling apart, the Paladins might need as much help as they could get. One of the perks from coming back from the dead meant he hadn’t been reassigned yet. He had no obligation to do anything more than stick with the Paladins and hope that Voltron really was as impressive as they continued to insist it was.

“No—”

“Thanks, Keith,” Pidge said, while Lance glared at her. “Lead the way.”

The last time he’d been dressed like this, leading two others from the Marmora base after receiving his orders, the outcome had been a death sentence for him. One that had accidentally led the Paladins to him. Keith hoped they would also bring luck to his people, during today’s fight.

They hurried down emptying halls, bright white lights flickering erratically overhead. Once, an explosion sounded close enough to shake dust and pieces of tile from the ceiling. They all held their breath for a moment, waiting to see if the tunnel might collapse around them.

“Keith!” his mother was coming toward him and when they met, she pressed her forehead against his but there was no _time_. He needed to leave and he felt guilty for thinking he’d walk out of there and she might lose him, again. This time there might not be any coming back.

“I’m taking the humans to their ship,” Keith said, leaving no room for argument. He could smell the fight in his mother’s heart. 

“I’ll come with you,” Krolia said, but Keith shook his head.

“They need you here,” he reminded her, and they both knew it was true. It was sometimes difficult to find someone level-headed in a time of crisis and Krolia was better than most other Blades at knowing what they needed to do.

“Find me, after,” Krolia said, nodding once, and Keith looked away before he’d be forced to watch her eyes as she saw her son leaving her, again.

There were guards at the base’s entrance holding their long daggers at the ready. There were flames in the trees.

_Red and white and orange and his father winging away up into the night and he’d never descended he’d never come back he wasn’t coming back_

“Shuttle’s this way,” Pidge said, pointing off to the right. “The others are on their way.”

Maybe then, for the first time, Keith wished that Lance had wings. Then he would be able to move faster, be safer, and they wouldn’t be so grounded.

“Follow me,” Pidge said, dynamic shifting as she took the lead. They ducked away from the entrance to the base, nearly obscured by branches and moss, and plunged into the trees.

“I’ve been researching Vidorian strategy. It seems like they’ll rely mostly on the airstrikes and send their ground troops in afterward. If we move quickly enough, we can get inside the shuttle and lift off before they arrive,” Pidge said.

She didn’t mention how that meant they’d be walking out into the forest while the Vidorians attacked from above, tucking in the trees or whatever ships were hovering over the canopy. Keith didn’t question it, because they were running out of options. 

Any plan would put people he cared about in danger.

The ground was soft beneath his feet as they ran, kicking up dirt and debris in their wake. There was ash in the air, smoke polluting every breath, and Keith’s wings flared behind him. He pulled out a knife, holding it ready. Every day he’d spent at the Marmora base he’d longed to go outside and feared it too, because he’d known he would only leave while he was in danger.

The sun was risen but hidden behind spindly trees and clouds of smoke, leaving the forest in a dim sort of twilight. Pidge held a device in her hand, tracking their way back to the shuttle. There were shouts among the trees, screams that echoed up into the abandoned canopy above. The explosions drew closer and closer and—

Splinters and shredded leaves flew as a tree to Keith’s right was pulverized near the base by enemy weaponry. The tall trunk creaked, no longer anchored securely by its roots, crashing down to the forest floor. Branches several times longer than Keith was tall, thick enough to squash him like some small hunted thing, pierced the earth. 

“Faster! Come on, we’re almost there!” Pidge called over her shoulder.

She made it sound so easy, but they’d been spotted.

It felt like the forest shook around them, ground quaking every time another enemy blast hit. The trees Keith loved, so old and ancient and beautiful, the ones his people had once lived among, began to collapse. Though he ran until it was nearly like flying, like his feet hardly needed to touch the ground and the wind was there to catch him, Keith knew it wouldn’t be fast enough.

The enemy could always find him.

He could hear the metallic hum of their ships now, above the canopy, as they aimed their weaponry at the Paladins. Sinking low enough to aim at the humans who’d given the enemy aid not so long ago. Keith should have told them that the enemy didn’t negotiate; that they preferred to destroy, and never asked for forgiveness.

“Lance—”

The trees closest to them started to shudder, as their neighbors fell, as the enemy rained destruction. 

“Lance!” Keith shouted, as the branches started to fall. Pidge was shouting something into her communicator and Lance had his bayard in his hands, rifle ready. But guns and blades couldn’t fight against this.

He saw it coming, before Lance glanced upward.

Keith had been right about the wind waiting to catch him. He leapt forward as the tree began to fall where Lance stood, as Pidge began to shout and the humans froze for a moment and _Keith had frozen too, he’d been afraid, when he’d been captured and realized in that moment there was nothing really that he could do and it was_ hopeless.

Twisting in the air, the wind was good to him. Keith kicked Lance in the side—it would hurt, it would _bruise_ , knocking the Paladin off his feet to send him skidding out of the way. Not safe, not yet, but safer.

Keith felt like he was constantly running out of time, that he was always angry because he grasped for stolen minutes with greedy hands and never came away satisfied.

There wasn’t enough time for him to twist back around, to run or fly or dodge.

Something hit him hard, slamming him against the ground so that his vision sparked white and the world went quiet, for a minute.

When he could blink again, when he could see, Keith was looking upward. He could see swaths of that grey sky, because there were holes in the forest canopy, now. There was an odd, blue light, piercing down from above. One that made the little metal ships the enemy used scatter, darting away from the forest. Stopping their attack, for now.

“Coran scared them off and cleared a path for us to fly the shuttle. It might not take long for them to regroup,” Pidge said. Her words were oddly muffled, as if she’d dunked her head beneath the surface of a pond. Or maybe it was Keith who was underwater.

“I know. I know. We don’t have much time,” Lance said, and then dissolved into rushed words that made Keith’s head pulse with another ache. Words that meant _Oh, God_ and _Please_ and _Help me, help me, help me_. He understood them but they sounded off, different from how the humans usually spoke around him.

Keith wondered vaguely what language that was supposed to be. He took a moment to be thankful that he hadn’t managed to break his translator, when he’d smashed the rest of himself on the ground. Letting his head loll to the side, Keith tried to look for Lance. 

And then, _then_ , he felt the pain.

\- - -

One moment there had been horror building in his chest, mixed with an odd sense of resignation, as Lance looked upward and watched the world falling down on him.

Then he’d been hit by something, sending him sliding across the ground until Pidge was there to slow him down before he could ram into anything. Almost in the same moment, she pulled Lance to his feet, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze was fixed behind him, so Lance looked, too.

He wanted to go home. Lance always missed Earth and his family but sometimes it stung worse, like a reopened wound. It wasn’t fair. _It wasn’t fair_. They were all too young for this.

Keith was splayed across the ground, eyes closed and chin tilted toward the sky. There wasn’t much blood. Several of the fallen, shattered branches had pierced the earth.

One stabbed through Keith’s right wing, pinning him against the ground.

Then there was a flurry of movement, as Pidge frantically spoke to Coran and Lance went to Keith who was horribly still. His pulse was there—he was breathing, but the human realized then how often the alien was always in motion. Pacing or training, wings twitching. This stillness felt too . . . alien.

Fingers trembling, Lance shifted to—to look at the injury, telling himself to keep it together. The wound seemed pretty clean and only a few flecks of blood dotted grey and black feathers. The branch had sliced right through him, embedding in the forest floor. Hovering nervously, Lance was afraid to touch anything. _What if he made it worse?_ What if he did something, and then Keith couldn’t . . . 

Keith groaned. Lance’s attention immediately snapped back to him.

Those cosmos eyes were hazy, and that expression that had almost seemed peaceful in unconsciousness—Lance watched it crunch in a shock of pain.

“Keith,” Lance said, swallowing down the prayers that he wanted to continue in Spanish. “Don’t move, okay? I’ve got you. Everything’s fine.”

His left wing twitched, shifting against grass and splinters and fallen leaves, as if trying to figure out why the other one was immobile. So _still_. Lance had both of Keith’s hands so he couldn’t be able to search with them, either.

“What happened?” Keith said, or at least that’s what Lance thought he was trying to say around his clenching fangs. A shudder crept up Keith’s spine and his left wing shifted again, nearly sweeping Lance off his feet.

“I know you don’t like following orders, but you need to listen to me. Stop,” Lance said, grabbing for Keith’s shoulders when he started trying to sit up.

He wasn’t quick enough.

The movement must have pulled at Keith’s wing because he screeched, once, high and pained, and when his jaw flexed Lance thought for a moment that the alien might actually bite him.

Keith’s heels dug into the dirt and his shoulders strained as he _screeched_ , the noise piercing Lance’s ears and leaving them ringing. The alien was staring at the branch pinning down his wing and, hand shaking, he started to reach for it—

“ _No_.” Lance grabbed Keith’s hand, leaning backward as his teeth snapped and he _hissed_. Straddling the alien’s hips, Lance used all of his weight to keep Keith pressed to the ground, as still as possible.

“Let me go,” Keith demanded, words laced with pain and fear and anger. “Let go of me, Lance!”

“Keep him distracted,” Pidge called over before muttering something incomprehensible into her communicator.

“You’re going to make it worse if you keep moving. We need to be quiet, or the Vidorians down here could hear us,” Lance said. He wanted to look over his shoulder, feeling for a moment like they were being watched, but refused to look away from Keith. Taking his hand, Lance pressed it against his chest. “Breathe with me, okay? Nice and steady. We’ve got you.”

For a moment Keith’s eyes met his and they were clear, so Lance could see straight down to the terror that made the alien want to fight him.

Then those soft purple eyes widened, with horror and _betrayal_ as he looked past Lance toward Pidge who’d been eyeing the predicament keeping them grounded. They couldn’t stay there any longer; they’d already lingered too long. The Vidorians could come to finish them off from the ground, if they were afraid of Coran’s retaliation in the skies.

“No—no—” Keith stammered, as Pidge eyed the angle of the branch and Lance shifted to keep his face filling Keith’s vision.

“Don’t look,” Lance said, leaning closer until their noses bumped together. “Look at me. Ignore Pidge.”

He could see the flicker in Keith’s eyes, feel the revolt in his body, when Pidge grabbed onto the branch. She was quick about it.

She was only trying to help.

When Pidge pulled the branch from his wing—from where it had embedded in the ground beneath him—she knelt among his feathers to try to keep him still. And Lance was there, too, flush against Keith’s body, trying and failing to assure him that it would be alright.

Thinking, _It would have been better if he’d let it hit me._

The scream that pulled from Keith’s lungs echoed as the branch dragged free and blood coated his feathers. It sounded like he was dying or like he wanted to be dead. His legs kicked against Lance and his left wing slammed against the ground, scattering red and grey and black. Keith’s gaze locked onto Lance’s, like he refused to look downward. For a moment his eyes rolled back, like it was all too much.

As Pidge tried to sterilize the wound and give what quick medical treatment she could, because they needed to leave _now_ , there was no reason for her to keep pressing his right wing down.

It was the only part of him that was still, immobile against the dirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> even though I think we all knew the fluff couldn't last, I hope this wasn't toooo predictable and you all enjoyed :) oops
> 
> thank you SO much to everyone who commented on the last chapter, I love you all!
> 
> as always you can find me over on [twitter](http://twitter.com/kaylawhitwrites) or [tumblr](http://imreadingabook.tumblr.com) if you want to say hello!


	18. Cone of Silence

“We need to go, Pidge,” Lance said, and Keith felt a pang of guilt because it was his fault that the Paladin looked so distraught. The planes of his face were hazy, fuzzed at the edges, but growing clearer. Keith knew that had something to do with the numb sort of calm settling in his stomach. It was panic more than pain that had left him screeching a moment beforehand, and if he could just not think about how Pidge was touching his wing, then it would be fine. 

Ignore what had happened, and he would be fine.

“I—I know, I know,” Pidge stammered. When she stood, her black gloves looked even darker, soaked with . . . Keith. That was also his fault.

“There shouldn’t be much more bleeding,” Keith said, looking up at the Paladins so that he wouldn’t need to look down at himself. Ignoring the breathless quality his voice had taken on. Instead, he knocked his hand against Lance’s shoulder. “Help me up. We need to keep moving.”

“But your _wing_ —”

“When the enemy finds us sitting here, what do you think they’ll do to my wings?” Keith asked, more like snapped, because his wing felt so heavy and it _hurt_ and he couldn’t ignore it if Lance kept mentioning it. If he kept looking at Keith with a strange mixture of fear and pity.

“Pidge,” Keith said, and it was only when the younger Paladin grasped his arm and started helping him stand that Lance finally moved. Her gloves left tracks of blood on his forearm.

The earth seemed to revolt beneath him and Keith rocked, nearly toppling over, until Lance put an arm around his waist and caught him by his side. The human said his name so gently that Keith didn’t want to look at him anymore, either.

It was odd, feeling the uneven weight against his back of wings that refused to obey him, so he looked then to see what Pidge had been doing. There were bandages, stark white against the tumult of his feathers. Blood speckled the rest of his wing, and some of the ground, and _Pidge_ , but Keith knew he wouldn’t lose much more of it. Wounds to wings were rarely life-threatening, if you were already on the ground.

The muscle, though . . .

Keith flared his left wing slightly, so that it better matched the awkward angle the other drooped at. It strained his back, but it was _fine_. He was fine.

It didn’t matter because there was no time left to do anything but move forward. His heart leapt up his throat at every sound around them in this forest because it could mean the enemy was on their way to finish off all three of them. Keith had lost one of his knives somewhere in the underbrush, so he pulled another free from the belt around his waist. Mistrusting his balance without Lance, he thought the Altean sword might be useless, for now.

This close to Lance, with every inhale Keith could smell the human’s fear. Hooking his arm over Lance’s shoulder to steady himself, Keith realized just how ill-equipped he was to assure both of his friends that everything would be alright.

“Let’s go, Pidge. Lead the way,” Keith said when she glanced back toward him. It looked like she was going to try grabbing him, too, so he started walking forward before she could reach him. Lance scrambled to keep up with him.

At least if the enemy arrived, Pidge had both hands free. She could fight—she would escape. Out of all the Paladins, she’d always been least likely to try prying into Keith’s life. Sure, there were her endless experiments, but he could smell her genuine fascination over learning more about a new alien species. She never asked too many questions about his past; she waited patiently whenever an unexpected prod or poke made Keith growl at her, baring his fangs. Sometimes it felt like she understood him.

Because no matter how much she complained, or claimed she was angry at him whenever he broke when of her devices, Pidge was always back the next day with a new one, fixed just for him. She never wanted his thanks. She never refused to remake anything for him. Pidge always seemed to know what he needed, and it was—it meant . . .

He wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

“The shuttle’s close,” Pidge promised, but they moved so much more slowly now.

Keith couldn’t run. His feet grew steadier beneath him but his wings—his _wing_ dragged awkwardly and Lance refused to let go of him. They didn’t fight over it much, because Keith wanted to keep quiet and knew if he did end up falling it would only waste more time they didn’t have. Every so often, the forest would flash blue around them, as Coran fought to keep a path clear overhead.

He tried not to wonder if that meant the enemy would gather elsewhere. He tried not to wonder what his mother was doing, if she was in danger, too. It was a stupid thought, because it had an easy answer. Of course she was in danger; his people had been living through variations of this fight for years. She knew how to keep herself safe. That couldn’t have changed while Keith had been away.

Lance’s fingers pressed against Keith’s hip, and his wing ached, and he steadied his heart as they came to the break in the trees where they’d left the shuttle just a few days ago. Desperation had fueled him then, mixed with determination to get home. 

The shuttle glinted dull silver, flashing in the light from above, and there was Shiro standing right outside the ramp. He struggled with something in his arms, no—someone—

Allura.

Keith had to admit to himself that he usually avoided her. It was more difficult for him to understand the Alteans than the humans. Not because of any language, but they _hovered_. Coran and Allura were always around, always helping, looking at him like something needing to be fixed. He could smell the sincerity inside of them and usually backed the other way because it was the easier choice. It meant he didn’t need to speak to anyone, meant he wouldn’t snap.

_Selfish_. Ungrateful. And Allura hadn’t hesitated to come down to his planet to help his people, hadn’t even questioned their need for Voltron’s assistance. She’d always been there with a smile while Keith felt himself drifting, floundering in the Castle-ship, and her steely resolve to persist even when it placed her in incredible danger had reminded him so painfully of home that he’d never tried to get to know her.

She was silent in Shiro’s arms, snowy hair sprawled across Shiro’s metal hand. Hunk shouted something from the shuttle doorway but while Pidge hurled herself inside, Keith stopped. Forcing himself to look away from Allura and the others, reminding himself they’d been fine without him long before he’d stolen onto their ship.

“I’ll go back to the base and assist from there,” Keith said, shaking Lance’s hand off him. The grip on his waist tightened for a moment before relenting. While he still felt unbalanced—pissed off now about his uncooperative wing, because anger was so much more familiar than fear—Keith was able to stand on his own. 

“You’re an idiot,” Lance pointed out to him. Keith didn’t bother with a scowl.

“I can’t do anything to help from up there. You all will be flying those—the—Voltron, so the best place for me to be is—”

“With us,” Lance said, digging his hand into the smooth black of Keith’s shirt, pulling him toward the shuttle. “You’re just going to wander all the way back through the woods, hoping the Vidorians don’t find you, _alone_?”

Keith hurriedly walked forward to keep his feet beneath him, half-tempted to slice into his own shirt to get himself away from Lance.

“My place has always been with the Blades,” Keith insisted. They were nearing the ramp and his knees were unsteady, threatening to give way.

“You brought Voltron here to change the way your people have always been doing things. The fact that you haven’t fought me off yet proves you aren’t strong enough to go and play hero on your own,” Lance said, finally releasing him with a shove toward the ramp. There was anger on the human’s scent then, not the sharp, vivid, hateful anger Keith was used to, but the kind that was bred from concern, worry, and frustration.

“Get in the fucking shuttle,” Lance said.

Keith got in the shuttle.

\- - -

“I’ve got her,” Hunk told Shiro as soon as they were piling into the shuttle. Though the Yellow Paladin looked a little queasy, he didn’t falter as he helped Shiro lower Allura down to the floor.

“What happened?” Pidge asked, crouching down as well before waving Shiro off.

He felt so _useless_. There was the smallest smear of blood near Allura’s hairline, white strands in unusual disarray, but he needed to pull himself together. Pull himself away. Reluctantly, but hurriedly, he sat in the pilot’s seat to get the shuttle ready to take off.

“We ran into a little trouble on the way,” Hunk said. “There was a pretty bad explosion and Allura was knocked off her feet. She hit her head on something but it’s okay, right? She’ll be okay. Right?”

“She’s unconscious and will probably have a raging concussion when she wakes up, but yes, Hunk. She’ll be fine,” Pidge assured him.

Shiro tried not to think about how they really couldn’t afford to have any of them out of commission, not now. In the few days they’d spent at the civilian base, he’d seen how ill-prepared Keith’s people were for this unfair fight. There were kids, fledglings, shedding too many feathers because they weren’t getting enough sunlight on their wings. Families that hadn’t been able to properly fly for years. People who had been kind to the Paladins, complete strangers, when they’d walked into the base offering to help.

None of them were like Thace, attacking first and asking questions later. These people had shared what they had, but they were tired. Beaten down. As if they’d already resolved themselves to some great, inevitable loss.

Allura had never really gotten along with her lion, but she was good with people. Reassuring them, rallying them to her side. They needed her for this fight, even if the Vidorians wouldn’t listen to reason. She connected the Paladins and held them together in such a delicate balance that fighting without her would be another hazard. Shiro had to hope that her injury wasn’t so great it would require too much time in a healing pod. What would the risk be, if they took her out too early? None of them would forgive themselves if anything happened to her. She would feel the same, if she woke, whole and rested, and they’d been forced to retreat because the fight hadn’t gone well without her.

“I already asked Coran to have a healing pod ready. She’ll—Allura will be fine. She’ll join us after she’s had some time to heal,” Shiro said, gaze flicking to the back of the shuttle as Keith and Lance finally stumbled inside. What had taken them so long?

“Get a pod ready for Keith, too,” Lance demanded. There was something strange in his voice, and Shiro realized it was because the thick layer of cocky confidence perpetually coating it was gone. The Paladin was only this serious when things seemed to be . . . very bad.

“I won’t fit inside,” Keith said as Shiro started raising the entry ramp. “I’m _fine_ —"

“Sit down and tell me what’s wrong,” Shiro said, rubbing his temple before settling his hands at the controls. One metal and forced upon him. One flesh and blood. The Paladins and Keith were counting on him to keep them safe, so he’d already failed—twice, in one day—and refused to let anything else happen while they were in his hands.

“Keith injured his wing. He’s lost some blood,” Lance said, before pausing. “Allura?”

“She’ll be alright,” Shiro said, unsure if he believed that or was speaking it emphatically enough to make those words come true. The shuttle thundered to life under his fingertips. The sky flashed blue overhead. Liftoff was surprisingly gentle and he eased them over the treeline—slow, steady, although his blood screamed at him to rush back to the Castle-ship.

“Shiro,” Hunk spoke up. “What’s the plan?”

They flew higher, cresting the canopy so that Shiro could see there were Vidorian ships in the distance. Out of range, until the castle’s attention was turned elsewhere. They weren’t retreating; they were waiting.

“We can’t form Voltron without Allura,” Pidge pointed out.

They could barely form Voltron _with_ her. Shiro knew that wasn’t Allura’s fault. Red and Allura tried to work together. The rest of them could feel it, through the Paladin bond. But their personalities weren’t . . . compatible. There was too much push and pull between the two of them, too much of an innate difference in their quintessence. It was a sign of Allura’s strength that she’d been able to get as far as she had with the way things currently were.

Those Vidorian ships had definitely spotted the shuttle.

“We can convince the Vidorians to retreat without forming Voltron. After all, we want to avoid damaging the ground as much as possible. This is Keith’s home. We draw them away, show them that we’re prepared to protect the forest. Four lions should work,” Shiro said, the uncertainty echoing back at him in his thoughts. _Should. Should._

“The Vidorians might have heard of Voltron, but they’ve never seen your lions before. It could convince them to at least retreat back to their cities,” Keith said. “They might not surrender but it could buy us time.”

It felt odd, wanting to threaten the very people they’d arrived on this planet to help just a few months ago. Perhaps it was a failure of Voltron, that they hadn’t realized there was an entirely different species being threatened behind their backs while they’d been repairing the communications network. 

Shiro pushed the shuttle faster, because it was really beginning to look like those Vidorian ships were getting closer.

“Besides, Allura will join us whenever she’s out of the healing pod. It’ll be fine,” Pidge said, the other Paladins echoing her optimism. 

_Fine_ , while an Altean princess lay unconscious on the shuttle floor. Fine, when there was apparently something wrong with Keith’s wing, and Shiro was dragging him away from his planet _again_.

“Hang on!” Shiro demanded, punching the shuttle faster. Those Vidorian ships were definitely gaining—scattering, as a blue beam of energy jolted from the Castle-ship overhead. Regrouping, because they’d seemed to figure out that Coran couldn’t fire at all of them, not all at once. It would be a race against time, then.

Shiro flew the shuttle faster, listening to the Paladins and Keith groaning behind him. Hunk sounded like he was being sick.

The Vidorians were firing now, just barely in range. Explosive shells dotted the gray skies around them with balls of fire.

And then—

And then they were leaving the atmosphere, climbing higher, too high for the Vidorian ships to follow. Shiro guided the shuttle to the Castle-ship and wondered if Keith’s people might think that Voltron would leave them there, to save their own skin. They were trusting the Paladins to come back.

As soon as they docked, Coran was there with a bed from the med bay for Allura. Hunk and Pidge helped him with the princess, assuring him—and themselves—that she would be fine. Her face looked so _still_ , not at all at peace.

“Okay, Keith, let’s see if we can patch you up a little better, and you can ride—” Shiro faltered, glancing into the back of the shuttle. There was Keith, kneeling on the ground, wings awkwardly draped behind his back. A flash of white bandages among his feathers. Lance stood over him, tensed, like he was going to help the alien.

But Keith was ignoring them. That in itself wasn’t unusual. The alien always seemed to prefer being aloof, to never show that he might need another person let alone that he could be told what to do.

His strange, purple eyes were fixed on Allura’s bayard, left behind on the shuttle floor.

\- - -

As soon as they’d neared the Castle-ship, Keith had felt an odd unrest settle in his bones. Not exactly uncomfortable, but annoying enough that he’d forgotten the lingering strain in his wing. The hole that had been punched through him that felt so _final_ , that made the others look at him like something broken.

It felt like warmth dripping down the back of his neck, like he was wrapped in sunlight. The strong kind, like he could fly out again over the canopy without any fear of being spotted by the enemy. It felt like warm months and firelight, tucking into a soft nest.

Familiar, but with a flicker of frustration underneath that felt more like a bite.

It grew worse—better?—when they landed, when the itch beneath his skin felt like it could claw free and burn him. It made him want to race and run until his heart was pounding and wind pulled through his hair. He could fight. He could be useful.

That was what the warmth curling in his chest promised. It couldn’t say for certain he would be whole again, but it didn’t mind. It wanted him as he was, injuries and scars and all.

Keith barely noticed when they hurried Allura out of the shuttle to the healing pods. His gaze only flickered when Lance touched his shoulder and Shiro crouched beside him. They were speaking to him; he knew that and disliked their concern, but they weren’t the only ones talking to him anymore.

The warmth in his chest, crawling along his skin, in his _head_ , it was impatient. Fierce and reckless, swift and protective, violent and stubborn.

Keith had never felt so . . . understood.

Reaching upward, he laced his fingers with Lance’s so that he could tug the Paladin’s grip away from him. Leaning forward, wings dragging awkwardly behind him, Keith picked up Allura’s bayard. The red was like flames and sunsets.

“Allura is going to be okay,” Keith said. It wasn’t just a vague, well-intended reassurance; he knew it was true. Well, _he_ didn’t know, but some part of him, or something else, was telling him it was so. 

When he stood, Shiro was holding his hands out like he was going to stop him.

“You’re going to the infirmary, too,” the human said, words slow, as if anything less would spook Keith and this way he could corral him into doing what he wanted. “Coran will keep you safe up here.”

“I’m not hiding on the Castle-ship when my people are down there dying,” Keith said, rolling back his shoulders. “I’ve fought through worse. I—”

He faltered, words breaking apart as that _warmth_ called to him again. Urgent, angry, _excited_.

Keith shoved past Shiro so suddenly he nearly knocked the Paladin over. Keeping his grip tight on Lance, bayard in his other hand, Keith followed the voice in his head.

He knew Lance was speaking to him again, asking if he was alright. If he’d knocked his head against something—if he was concussed, hallucinating, crazy. Their pace down the hall increased, as the warmth—the presence?—near Keith’s heart spurred him on faster. Faster. _Faster _. Down one hall, then another. The turns were familiar. There were footsteps behind him—Shiro, and then Hunk and Pidge, and Lance had grown quiet because he’d realized Keith was taking him where he’d already meant to go.__

__This hanger was larger, echoing, powerful. Where Keith went sometimes when space felt too large and home too far away. Where the Paladins had taken him to help him understand what Voltron truly was._ _

__The lions were there, tall and looming and proud._ _

__They needed to hurry. Every minute wasted up on the Castle-ship meant another chance for the Vidorians to get closer to destroying those bases. Without them, Keith’s people would be lost. It would be over. All of those years of struggling for _nothing_._ _

__That warmth inside of him growled in anger._ _

__It tugged him forward._ _

__Keith walked across the hanger, bare feet against cold metal. Feathers trailing limply across the floor. Clenching the bayard in a tight fist, he reluctantly released his hold on Lance’s hand. It was only then he realized how tightly he’d been gripping the human, fingernails like claws leaving little arched impressions in the human’s skin._ _

__When Keith tilted his chin upward, the Red Lion was peering down at them._ _

__For a moment, the certainty that had fueled him since he’d exited the shuttle wavered. This was _crazy_. He should have been holed up in the infirmary, useless. Waiting to hear the outcome of the fight. But the thought of sitting aside and doing nothing filled his veins with fire. It settled alongside the growl caught in his throat._ _

__“I think this is where I’m supposed to be,” Keith said, lifting his free hand. His fingers wanted to twitch. That restless energy under his skin felt pleased and ready and impatient and kind and—_ _

__Red shifted, head dipping, metal pressed against Keith’s palm._ _

__Scarlet light flooded through the hanger, bright and fierce and _right_._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all SO SO SO much for all of the comments on the last chapter! every single one is so precious to me. it keeps me motivated not only to work on this, but to keep going with other projects I'm working on as well. please know that I truly appreciate the time you take to read and comment! it makes me want to happy cry :)
> 
> I hope this chapter wasn't too boring as a transition chapter. What do you think Keith will get up to next??!?
> 
> as always you can find me over on [twitter](http://twitter.com/kaylawhitwrites) or [tumblr](http://imreadingabook.tumblr.com) if you want to say hello!


	19. Captain

Peace. It felt like peace, wrapped around him, tucked over his wings—not quite eradicating the pain but numbing it, distancing it.

Keith hadn’t been able to identify the emotion at first, because he wasn’t sure he’d felt like this since he’d been young and safe inside his family’s nest. With the skies open above them, their people happy and thriving. Something close to this had settled over him on the Castle-ship, after he’d decided the Paladins were trustworthy. He’d felt it again, reuniting with his mother, and there had been more when he’d invited Lance into his nest, tucking his wing over both of them.

Red was different.

It wasn’t that the Red Lion promised everything would be okay or that together they could miraculously solve all of Keith’s problems. But it felt, impossibly, like he’d searched for something for years without quite knowing what he was wandering toward—what he waited for—and now with his hand pressed against Red’s warm metal he felt some of that restlessness fade.

It felt like maybe Red had been waiting for Keith to be ready, too.

“I’m coming with you to fight against the enemy,” Keith said, turning and reluctantly pulling his hand away from the warm metal. The scarlet glow tinging the hanger began to withdraw, curling back up into Red.

The Paladins were staring at him.

“Uh, is anyone else surprised by what is happening, or is it just me?” Hunk asked, poking his fingers together nervously. 

“You’ve been in the hanger and around the Red Lion before. It’s never had a reaction like this,” Pidge said, brow furrowed. Keith inched away before she could get any ideas about examining him. “Why now?”

Keith shrugged. He’d felt this familiar warmth in the hanger before—muted, but present. Maybe Red had been assessing him, watching him. Perhaps he’d someone proved that he was worthy of flying the Lion. Or maybe it was only different _now_ because the only other Paladin available was currently stuck in a healing pod. It didn’t matter if Keith was the last or only choice; he would take whatever was offered, if it would help his people.

“Red wants to help me,” Keith said, feeling the truth of it in his chest. “I’m not going to question that. We can figure that out later.”

“But Keith, you’re injured. It would be dangerous for you even if you flew with one of us,” Lance said. He wouldn’t meet Keith’s gaze; instead, he stared down at the bayard clenched in Keith’s fist. “You’ve never even piloted a ship before.”

“You think that I won’t be able to fly?” Keith asked—snapped, really, and then ground his fangs together so he wouldn’t be tempted to say more. His wings hung awkwardly at his back and the hanger suddenly felt too small, too hot. “Shiro showed me how.”

“Pointing out the shuttle controls and piloting one of the Lions are two incredibly different things,” Pidge spoke up.

Keith decided to glare at her, too, as if the force of his frustration would make the humans back away and accept that he was going to help. Whether they liked it or not.

Pidge narrowed her eyes back at him before she shifted, turning toward Shiro. Actually, all of the other Paladins looked toward him, while he crossed his arms over his chest.

Despite his grinding teeth and clenched fists, Keith felt a flicker of uncertainty. He should have known the decision would be Shiro’s.

“Shiro?” Hunk asked. “What are we going to do?”

The Black Paladin looked very tired, shadows under his eyes, brow furrowed.

“We all know what it felt like when the Lions accepted us for the first time,” Shiro said. “They don’t make these decisions lightly. Remember how long it took Red to accept anyone as their Paladin?”

Pidge nodded. “Allura finally got Red to open up, and it’s been—”

“Chaos,” Hunk shuddered. “So, _so_ much fire.”

“Red chose Keith as he is now, injuries and inexperience and all,” Shiro said. Keith bared his fangs at him a little, uncertain if that was an insult. “I trust that decision.”

The look he gave Keith was mostly surprised, mixed with a little pride, so Keith found he couldn’t meet Shiro’s eyes for very long.

“We probably won’t be able to form Voltron,” Pidge said, gesturing with her bayard. “Even if we all know Keith, we’ve never—never practiced _anything_ like this—”

“You’re right, Pidge. We’re going to have to do this in our separate Lions. But from what we’ve seen of the Vidorians’ range of weaponry, this should be the best way to handle them,” Shiro said.

“Yeah, because every minute we’re up here just gives them time to call in more reinforcements,” Pidge said, fumbling with her communicator. Keith didn’t doubt her skills, more the tech his people had, so he doubted she could contact the Blades from all the way up here. “We’re really going to need to divide and conquer.”

Shiro nodded, and—he nodded at Keith, which meant _yes_ , yes you can stay, you can help, you can _win_.

“Keith, you’ll stay behind the rest of us so we can cover you as you get used to the controls. Pidge, you’ll be closest to the ground. Grow some cover for those bases. Keep them protected. Lance, you’ll need to defend her while she’s working on that, so watch her back. Hunk, I’m going to need your help pushing the Vidorians to retreat. Once they see they’re overpowered, I don’t think they’ll last very long,” Shiro said, seeming _almost_ satisfied with a last-minute plan. 

Keith knew he was very good at pretending to be okay with those orders.

“Get to your Lions,” Shiro said. “We’re going to go down there and end this.”

“On it!” Pidge shouted, running off to her Lion. Hunk followed, heading to Yellow while letting out a long, trailing groan.

“Keith,” Lance said and Keith didn’t want to look at him either, at the uncertainty that lingered in those ocean eyes when the human gripped Keith’s hand. “You’re sure about this?”

There were little specks of blood on Lance’s armor, and Keith thought it belonged to him.

Looking down at their hands, the darkness of Lance’s gloves pressed against Keith’s pale fingers, part of him wished they were still back in his room. Underground it was stifling, but at least it had been safe. At least they’d been _together_. If something happened to Lance in his Lion, Keith wouldn’t be there to save him.

He hated not being in control. _Hated_ it, so it felt like it burned him on the inside to think about being pinned down and _useless_ and helpless and now that he knew the others, now that he had friends and _Lance_ Keith could only think about falling branches and tight collars and how fragile humanity seemed.

“I know this is what I’m meant to do,” Keith said, pressing Lance’s hand against his chest. “I feel it here.”

Lance’s lips twisted into a wry sort of smile, as if he’d been afraid Keith would say that. “Yeah. That’s what I feel like with Blue. Like I was always meant to be with her.”

When he sighed, his head tipped forward, until Lance was squeezing him around the waist—careful, so careful not to touch Keith’s wings—and pressing his nose against Keith’s neck. Lance smelled like fear and determination, and that strange spike of _something_ that only came from him. 

“I’ll see you afterward,” Keith promised. Lance wouldn’t look at him, but Keith knew he would have done the same—the protests, insisting that Lance stay on the Castle-ship—if their roles had been reversed. Luckily, the alien was too stubborn. “Are you scared that I’ll fly better than you?”

Lance scoffed, a small breath of air against Keith’s neck, and then brushed his lips against the patch of skin he’d pressed himself close to. “I’ll be flying circles around you out there, bird boy.”

Letting go, Lance reached to tug on the feathers growing by Keith’s neck, before he left.

And Keith realized that Shiro was standing there, looking at him with wide, _wide_ eyes.

Keith hissed at him. He felt like his eye might start twitching, when Shiro started to smile, and hoped they would never need to speak about what had just happened.

Not that he was embarrassed by it, but . . . Lance was _his_.

Shiro held up his hands placatingly. “I just wanted to say that if you need anything up in the air, absolutely anything, you tell us. This isn’t some kind of test, Keith, to prove you can handle this alone. People can get hurt. You’ve already been hurt. If you need to turn back or land, none of us will think anything less of you.”

Though his wing still ached, cramped at an awkward angle on his back, Keith knew he’d rather be struck out of the sky than give up. Even if the idea of falling made him feel nauseas. 

“Ever since you used Lance’s bayard, I wondered . . . Well, you’ve shown you’re more than worthy of becoming a Paladin. I’m proud of you, Keith,” Shiro said, smile widening into something so genuine that it was difficult to look at. 

Something Keith was afraid of disappointing.

“I won’t let you down, Shiro,” Keith said, glancing away as the older Paladin walked off.

Behind him, the Red Lion’s mouth opened, inviting Keith onboard.

It was when he was alone that Keith began to fear he’d made a mistake.

Insecurity only made him angrier, but when his wings wanted to flare it _pulled_ at the bandages nestled in his wing. That sting of pain reminded Keith of Lance’s worry and Pidge—Pidge’s help, Pidge’s fear. The Paladins were always so quick to help him.

He owed it to them to do this right.

But part of him thought that if he lingered there just a little while longer, Allura would wake up and take his place.

_No._ There was no time to waste when his people were in danger and the Paladins would be endangered, too, if Keith wasn’t there to help them. If a gigantic oddly shaped spaceship believed he was capable of this kind of flight, he wasn’t going to question it.

The metal floor was bone-achingly cold against his feet, a jarring difference from the heat Keith felt should have filled the ship. There was that call coaxing him onward, forward, until the pilot’s chair sat before him. Like Shiro’s, in the shuttle. Or the other Lions, because the Paladins had let Keith visit with them sometimes, in the hanger. Hunk was always working on repairs in there, cheerful even if he managed to drop a tool on his foot, and all too happy to explain space things to Keith without prying too much into the alien’s own life.

Regrettable, that most of the time Keith spent in the hanger was when he tried to be alone. But it wouldn’t have mattered even if Lance had taught Keith all there was to know about the Blue Lion; being inside that ship felt different. Flying each of them would be different.

Keith settled into the pilot’s chair, wings draped over the sides. There was a tightness in his chest, alongside the screaming determination to _go and fight and destroy and win_.

It was just like leaving the nest for the first time. The worst came before he started.

Settling his hands at the controls, Keith startled as warm, red light filled the cabin around him. For a moment it was bright—not the bright white of a laboratory, or an interrogation room—before ebbing into something softer. Leaning forward, Keith ignored most of the information scrolling across the screens—none of it seemed very important, anyway. No, he wanted to see the other Lions lined up by the hanger doors. They’d eased open by now, the echoing dark of space peeking out through that opening.

Pidge and Hunk, Lance and Shiro, they took off, Lions shooting out among the stars.

“Alright, team—”

Keith screeched, reaching for the red bayard while his head twisted over his shoulder. The voice was coming from—around him? Another heartbeat later, he realized it had sounded a little like Shiro, if slightly distorted. Now it seemed like there was . . . laughter.

“Was that Keith?” That voice was definitely Lance’s and he was _definitely_ laughing at him, so Keith felt his anger begin to boil over. “I’ve literally never heard anyone make a noise like that—”

“It’s just us. Did you really think I wouldn’t make sure our Lions could communicate with yours?” Pidge scoffed.

“Guys, do you think something’s wrong with Keith? His Lion hasn’t moved yet!” Hunk’s voice was loudest, as if he was shouting at all of them.

“I’m fine! Stop talking to me while I’m concentrating,” Keith griped, while Lance snickered and Pidge sounded offended that he’d doubted their technological capabilities. _Yes_ , this would be easier with all of the other Paladins in his ear—all of the _real_ Paladins.

Keith still didn’t really understand Voltron, but he hadn’t really pictured defenders of the universe to be like . . . this.

He swallowed, but his throat was already dry. Then he closed his eyes.

It was quiet, when it was just him and Red. It felt odd, like there was an itch in Keith’s head that usually only lingered near his wings, telling him to go, to fly, faster and faster _and faster and faster_.

He gripped the controls and _pushed_ until Red raced forward, out of the hanger and into the sky.

The stars were so beautiful.

And his planet—close, but far, small and large all at once—sat there gray and innocuous, small flashes of light the only sign that a war was happening beneath him. Not even that anger could ruin this, when it felt like he’d been flying toward something his entire life, trying to work harder, be quicker, be _smarter_ , and with Red . . . 

They could do all of that together.

The other Lions were waiting for him.

“I knew you could do it, Keith,” Shiro said, pride in his voice. There was a smile caught there, too, and when Keith glanced at the screens he’d been ignoring—he realized he could see Shiro there. And the others, in their uniforms coordinated to match the colors of their Lions.

He wondered if that meant they could see him, too, so he tried to bring his expression a little further under control.

“Alright, team,” Shiro said, and this time Keith was prepared for it. “Let’s go stop the Vidorians.”

There was a chorus of agreement, and then Red was telling him what to do, so they dove down, down toward Keith’s home.

\- - -

Pidge dipped closest to the ground, seeing figures moving below, darting between the trees. Aliens like Keith, wings flared, blades drawn. The Vidorians were down there, too, ground troops finally arrived. Little darts of light fired from their blasters; it truly wasn’t a fair fight to begin with. Swords against guns. Pidge had thought it strange the Keith only ever wanted to train with blades on the Castle-ship, but the reason was obvious now. It was all his people knew, and they were very good, but . . .

Pidge could see people falling down there, wings crumpling, and they weren’t getting up.

As soon as her Lion was in range, Pidge closed her eyes and drew in a steadying breath. Shiro was always reminding them to _focus_. Though she wouldn’t exactly call her mind _relaxed_ , connecting with Green always felt like dipping into a cool forest clearing.

She twisted her bayard, Green’s cannon firing at the ground below. The undergrowth of the forest below them exploded, forming a temporary barrier between some of the Vidorians and the winged people they hunted. Pidge concentrated on the bases, too, trying to grow more cover for them, to protect them from the air.

But she could already feel so many holes in the soil, scarred scorches of earth that marred the forest. There were fallen trees everywhere, dead and broken.

This part of the planet already felt _wrong_.

\- - -

Lance forced Blue to a stop over Pidge, gripping the controls more tightly than usual. Even Blue seemed to notice, her presence in his mind prodding at him inquisitively. Of course he had a right to be worried. Keith was flying around in _literally the most unreliably reckless gigantic space Lion_ and everyone else seemed to think this was normal.

Well, they trusted Red. Lance trusted Keith. That should have been enough.

He parked himself over Pidge so he could watch her back, daring the Vidorian ships to come closer so that he could burn off a little of his frustration and practice his aim.

And they came. Either they’d spotted the Lions coming down from the Castle-ship or the ground troops had called in for assistance, because there were Vidorian ships squatting low over the canopy, coming at them fast. Quick, but not quick enough.

Lance fired up his cannon and started shooting.

\- - -

Hunk tried to still the repetitive refrain of _oh no oh no oh no_ echoing through his skull. Sure, the other Paladins’ voices were there to keep him steady, and he knew he had an important job to do, but there were _really actually a very large number of ships out there so maybe the Vidorians had reinforcements and also Hunk felt a little nauseous_.

It helped when he reminded himself there was no time to be sick, and that Keith and _literally everyone his friend loved_ were counting on him.

“Hunk, they’re going to try coming around on your left,” Shiro said. Hunk didn’t understand how their leader could sound so calm and confident even in the face of imminent danger, but that was probably what made Shiro qualified for the position in the first place. 

“Roger that,” Hunk said, shifting his Lion and sending the smaller Vidorian ships scattering. It seemed like they didn’t really know what to make of the Lions, which made sense because the Paladins hadn’t brought them down to the surface when they’d come down here to, you know. Accidentally help the people trying to eradicate Keith’s entire species. 

They were trying to test what the Paladins would do, which made it much harder to predict what the Vidorians would retaliate with.

Hunk pushed Yellow faster, herding Vidorian ships across the sky.

\- - -

Shiro knew his team and despite their challenges, their worries and differences, these were Paladins he would trust with his life. And Keith—Shiro couldn’t exactly say this transition was unexpected, because it hadn’t been lost on him that when he couldn’t find Keith wandering the halls of the Castle-ship, he was probably tucked away in the hanger, not his room. But flying one of the Lions was about more than just this ancient ship choosing him. In the end, Keith needed to accept Red, too, and it was obvious the alien didn’t like letting anything new into his life.

If it was anything like when Shiro met Black, it’d felt like he’d known the Lion for ages—almost like he’d missed the ship before he’d even had the chance to meet it.

Shiro kept checking on Keith via one of his screens. All things considered, Keith looked more alive, better than he had bundled into the shuttle. 

“The Vidorians have the advantage of numbers, but we have the greater firepower,” Shiro addressed the team. “Keep the destruction to a minimum and send them running. Make sure that the ground is protected.”

One of the Vidorian ships passed Shiro, shooting off a few bursts from their weak lasers. Easy to dodge. Then another attack on the other side, shells that burst into flame before they could even touch Black. Just so much smoke, rolling through the air—

As the smoke obscured most of Shiro’s screens, he realized the attack was a distraction.

“Hunk—” Shiro started, but there was a streak of red off to his right, red that he’d ordered to stay behind him.

“Keith!” Red was usually unpredictable, Allura struggling to bond with a Lion so different from herself, but one glance at Keith’s face on Shiro’s screen only showed determination and anger and a push to go _faster faster faster_. Keith and Red, acting in sync, as one, hurtling toward the Vidorian ships who’d used the smoke cover to dive lower, by the canopy.

“Don’t worry, Shiro,” Keith said, in a voice that didn’t sound apologetic at all for breaking orders within minutes of leaving the Castle-ship. “We’ve got this.”

\- - -

Keith couldn’t believe this was what it was like to fly a ship.

Sitting in the shuttle hadn’t felt like this. That had been jarring, stiff, _terrifying_. Red was startling and new, the controls felt unfamiliar in his hands and the speed made his stomach twist. But it was almost like he knew where to go before he needed to be there, banking and diving and leaving the formation Shiro had wanted them to remain in. Keith wasn’t going to waste his time sitting in the sky doing nothing.

It felt like Red agreed with his slightly reckless goal.

Like Keith could have flown even with his eyes closed and known exactly where they were going to go. Instead of wind ripping through his feathers there was smoke dashing across the metal in front of him; there was still that incessant pull as they dove down, _faster faster_ and gravity pulled at him—him and Red, they were in this together.

The Vidorian ships didn’t have their weapons aimed toward him.

“Come _on_ ,” Keith snapped, and he could feel Red’s frustration as well. If they were only quicker—smarter— _better_ , then—

Baring his fangs, Keith clutched the controls as Red snatched a Vidorian ship in his mouth, shaking it back and forth like prey they needed to kill, before throwing it toward the other ships lining the canopy.

They were already firing.

Down at those trees that had grown for centuries and housed Keith and his people safe in their boughs. The new growth started by Pidge, catching fire too easily, flames trickling across the vines and spreading, destroying.

_Flames falling from the sky and his father, flying up and never returning, never coming down, and his mother pulled him from his nest but Keith hadn’t realized they would never return, never be the same and everything was red and orange and white_

Red rumbled under his feet, jarring Keith’s thoughts. The forest rumbled beneath them.

The Lion’s screen showed it with horrible clarity, when the ground where the Blades’ base had been hidden started to collapse in on itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel mean
> 
> you all seemed so excited to see keith piloting red did i do this right
> 
> thank you all for your comments on the last chapter, your excitement and keyboard smashes made my week!!! sorry for the slight delay with this chapter, I didn't want to post while the bookmark maintenance was happening. i'm still on track to keep posting on friday/saturday :)
> 
> as always you can find me over on [twitter](http://twitter.com/kaylawhitwrites) or [tumblr](http://imreadingabook.tumblr.com) if you want to say hello!


	20. Distress

There were voices in his ears, telling him to move—asking for his status—but Keith could only process red. Red, the anger spilling from his chest and red, the frustration building in his bones as he looked down on the only home that had been left to him.

It collapsed so beautifully.

There had been weeks, months, after his mother had plucked him from their nest and they’d had nothing to return to because the fire raining from the sky had destroyed it all. Others, the first real members of the Blades, were working on expanding the underground storage facility to accommodate more people. Before there were communal spaces that could house them all, Keith’s people were scattered—hidden on the forest floor. His mother would tuck him in among massive tree roots and stand guard over him. Watching. Waiting.

Even then Keith had wondered who was going to protect _her_ , if she was so busy trying to keep her son alive.

They were thin because they were afraid to hunt out in the open and dirty from burrowing near the ground. When eventually word came that there was a safe place for them, that there was room, it was partially because the Blades had worked so hard to accommodate everyone in the storage facilities they’d expanded into bases.

Partially because so many had died in the interim that less space was needed, anyway.

It was why Keith and so many of the Blades were able to have their own rooms. Every year that dragged on meant there were less of their people, and wider gaps between the ones who were left. It hadn’t been much. He’d never bothered to decorate it, had nothing left from his old nest to bring with him to the facility. But it’d been his own. 

It was where he’d learned to fight, where he’d officially become a member of the Blades. Where he’d return after every mission, whether it had been successful or he was broken, bleeding.

It had survived because the enemy hadn’t wanted to destroy the forest to get to them and any ground troops had been picked off long before they could reach the base.

He’d always sort of expected it wouldn’t last, but hadn’t imagined losing it would feel like this.

Keith’s hands tightened around Red’s controls, as he watched the ground fold in over the collapsing base. Trees and grass and rumbling earth, burying everything. The training rooms where he’d learned he loved knives. The mess hall usually coated in blood from the kills he shared with other Blades. The interrogation room where Lance had talked Keith through his panic. The room with Keith’s sorry excuse for a nest and Lance’s hands on his wings, his legs twined with Keith’s, his breath against Keith’s neck.

Gone.

Red rumbled around Keith—in Keith—as figures in black poured from the base’s opening, wings stretching to pull them away from danger. There were other exits, farther in the forest, but from here Keith could only see the enemy waiting on the ground to take down his people, one by one. Wings grasping desperately for the wind; wings pinned down by bullets or lasers or falling rubble.

It seemed like for every one of his people who managed to escape there were two more grounded. They were so _still_ and quiet. 

Keith hit his fist against the console, ignoring the stinging pain in his knuckles and the lightning bolt of discomfort that jarred his wing. From up here, he could do nothing but watch. Any attack would have a better chance of hurting more of his people than the enemy. But if he went down without Red, he would only be another body fighting in a war that had always seemed to be about the numbers. His people were winding down to extinction.

The enemy would get what they wanted. The forest, for their own needs. The remainder of Keith’s people, living in their cities, doing whatever the enemy could force them to do.

He would not be helpless. The truth of that thundered in his veins. Keith tilted his head to the side, as if he was listening—but not to the voices of the humans, coming through his screens. Shifting his gaze to the enemy ships that were backing away now that the destruction was final—that they didn’t care if forest would be ruined, that this entire war would be _pointless_ —Keith shifted Red in their direction.

He couldn’t look at the ground any longer, searching out familiar figures amid the dust and smoke and danger.

No. Keith was going to kill as many of the enemy as he could, before it was too late.

\- - -

“Shiro, he isn’t responding. I think we need to get him out of here,” Lance’s voice crackled as Shiro watched Keith. The Red Lion was immobile—all of them had been frozen for a moment, surprised by the destruction below. It was as if the Vidorians had decided that because they could not have the forest, no one could.

“Hunk, Pidge, head over and start evacuating civilians,” Shiro said, listening for their confirmation. After the Blades base was thoroughly destroyed, he had no doubt about where the Vidorians would head next. “Pidge, have you had any luck communicating with the Blades?”

“We were in range but . . . it’s all static now,” Pidge said. “Anyone with a communicator still on them might be too busy now to respond.”

Right. Because the ones who weren’t dead were occupied with fighting for their lives. 

“Shiro—”

Lance’s voice broke through again, but Shiro was already watching as Red streaked across the sky. Slamming indiscriminately into Vidorian vessels, smoke and metal searing across the canopy. Inelegant, vicious, _desperate_ , Red struck and shot and bit into the smaller ships. They were no real match for one of the Lions, but there were so many of them.

“Lance, Keith needs some backup,” Shiro said, watching Blue barrel roll across the grey sky to bring Red some help. 

Shiro turned his attention to the Blades below—the ones who’d fled the collapsed base, winging their way higher to avoid the ground troops, to _escape_. He was determined not to lose anyone else.

\- - -

It was beautiful, when Keith fought. Beautiful, destructive, terrifying. It made Lance very glad they were on the same side.

“Keith, buddy,” Lance said while Keith rammed into another Vidorian ship. Red was tough, but even a Lion couldn’t keep doing that and come out of this completely unscathed. A few Vidorian ships peeled off from the back of the group, scuttling back toward their cities.

Hopefully not for reinforcements.

“I’ve got more room in here, Pidge,” Hunk’s voice came over the link. “You keep growing some cover for the civilians and I’ll make sure they get to the Lions.”

“I can do that,” Pidge confirmed.

“Keith! Hey!” Lance ducked Blue out of the way as another Vidorian ship came spinning toward him—back gouged by Red’s laser and then shoved across the sky. “Watch out, you’re—”

There were bits of metal and shreds of fire falling to the forest below. Lance knew how terrifying it had been, weaving through the trees with the remnants of the Vidorians’ firepower sending the earth churning and trees falling. Now there were entire ruined ships falling from the sky. 

“Sorry,” Keith mumbled, too quiet—an afterthought, because his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. Red spun, racing across the horizon as half a dozen Vidorian ships chased after him.

Lance felt Blue, curious and annoyed and concerned all at once. He had always been pretty similar to his Lion; the gorgeous ship certainly deserved to have the very best as a Paladin, a responsibility Lance didn’t take lightly.

“I know,” Lance said, as if Blue had muttered something aloud. “We’re going to have to help him whether he likes it or not. Allura was _never_ this stubborn.”

There was a beat of silence from Blue, which he took as disagreement, but while Allura could certainly be harsh and angry and fierce when she wanted to be, she lacked a certain kind of recklessness that seemed to have helped Keith bond with Red.

“Alright, Blue,” Lance said, pulling in a steadying breath. “Here we go.”

A laser shot from the Blue Lion’s mouth, exploding the line of Vidorian ships tailing after Keith. They flamed out in a neat little row.

“Lance? What are you doing?”

“You can’t take all the excitement for yourself,” Lance said, flying closer to Red. “We’ll work better as a team.”

Shiro was looking out for the Blades. Hunk and Pidge had the civilians. Keith and Lance, they could handle the sky.

“Alright,” Keith said after a moment. Even in that one word, Lance felt like Keith was in pain just from remaining in place for too long, like he _needed_ to be fighting and flying faster and faster. “Let’s go.”

It felt like Blue was feeding into Red, or maybe Red into Blue, because Lance couldn’t remember the last time he’d flown so fast. Red and Blue, neck in neck, racing across the grey sky and destroying the Vidorian ships that attacked. A few tried to duck around them, heading closer to the bases, but when Keith called them out, Lance chased them down. Another tried to hover over Keith, keeping to his back, his blind spot—but Lance was there, knocking the ship out of the way.

Explosions rattled Blue and smoke smeared across the sky, from the ships and spiraling up from the forest below. Like most things Lance had seen since he’d left home, it was beautiful and terrible all at once.

Lance tricked a ship into flying close enough for Keith to fry it with a blast from his laser.

“We do make a good team, don’t we?” he heard Keith say quietly under the rumble of crumbling metal.

“Uh, guys,” Pidge’s voice came through hesitantly. “We might have a problem.”

“Kind of busy, Pidge,” Lance said, pulling Blue out of the way of a diving Vidorian ship. _What else could go wrong?_

“Remember how I fixed the Vidorian communication network?” Pidge asked. “It looks like they’re trying to hail us.”

_I need to stop asking that question._

“What, do they want to surrender?” Lance asked hopefully.

“Uh, not exactly,” Pidge said. “More like they want to threaten us.”

\- - -

“Greetings, Paladins of Voltron,” the enemy who popped up on the viewscreen spoke awfully calmly and respectfully—to the humans. Keith knew the words weren’t directed toward him. He gnashed his teeth a little at the image, annoyed that the enemy was so far away—out of his reach. “I regret that we meet again under these circumstances.”

Keith tried not to roll his eyes, as the enemy ships that had been filling the skies stilled, temporarily.

“You mean circumstances like the war you forgot to tell us you were involved in?” Lance asked, and Keith watched the enemy’s blue face draw tight with dissatisfaction. 

For a moment, it hurt to breathe.

Keith focused on the light around him—red, comforting red, not white—not endless white—

“You were informed that we were having issues with the local wildlife,” the enemy shrugged. “They disrupted our communications. We remain grateful to you for your assistance, and fear that your participation in the unfortunate events that have occurred today may be . . . misguided.”

There were broken bodies left behind on the forest floor, lives ended so casually—so carefully. Keith’s hands clutched the controls, until his knuckles turned white and he wanted to screech and shriek and _kill_ until there was nothing left but _his_ home. _His_ people.

How many of his people still lived? They’d been corralled and cramped and trapped in this part of the forest and the Marmora base had collapsed so easily.

“What we’ve seen here is an attack on innocent people,” Shiro said. Keith found it much easier to focus on Voltron’s leader; his face was _almost_ calming, _almost_ reassuring. _Shiro_ would not hurt him. “They’re only trying to defend themselves. If you will retreat to the city, we would be happy to speak to you there. If you think we’ve misunderstood—”

“You have. We would prefer not to negotiate, but to make an exchange,” the Vidorian said, long ears twitching. “These creatures have overrun our forests for far too long. You have not seen the damage they have done to our cities—attacks against _us_ , and our innocent people. Stealing from us.”

Yes, Keith’s people were thieves. They stole pieces of tech and medical equipment. They took food and clothing and whatever else they could get their hands on when they went on supply runs that wasn’t nailed down. It was difficult to make anything for themselves, trapped as they were underground.

And, sometimes, people got hurt. But there were never civilians around—the enemy guarding the places Keith and the Blades infiltrated were always fighters, warriors, soldiers. They were always ready to attack.

“We understand that you have accidentally aided in the escape of one of our dangerous prisoners,” the enemy said.

Keith was not surprised.

Keith had known this was coming.

He hadn’t been able to get the laboratory and the collar and the _choking_ , the white lights and the _something wrong with his wings_ out of his head, his thoughts, his fears because he’d always known he would end up back there. The enemy did not let go of anything so easily. No one escaped, once they fell into the enemy’s grasp.

“Give us back our prisoner, and we will return to the city. A truce,” the enemy proposed, though they did not say how long the peace might last. An hour. A day. _Forever_. They were tricky. They were very good at getting what they wanted through unexpected violence.

There were other voices coming through the communication system now. Pidge and Hunk, who’d cut themselves off from the enemy channel, quietly continuing their evacuation on the ground. Shiro, attempting to arrange a better deal. Lance shouting, in a language that made Keith’s communicator buzz as it worked to translate something new.

Keith couldn’t breathe. He touched his throat, and there was nothing there, but the ache in his wings was real—there was something wrong with his wings, still, and this time he knew with awful certainty he wouldn’t be able to fly away. His wings wouldn’t carry him.

The voices were louder and when he closed his eyes all he could see were blinding lights and scientists and _Pull his wings flat_ and Red was in his head, trying to soothe out the wrong, but even when Keith had spent long nights in the Lions’ hanger it hadn’t quite been enough to quiet his thoughts.

_Spiraling and spiraling and spiraling and_

Pidge and Hunk needed more time.

“Fine,” Keith said—Keith snapped—his fangs bared as if he could reach through the screen and tear out the enemy’s throat. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya'll are seriously the best, your comments make me smile so much! i'm sorry but it encourages me to try to torment you as we're nearing the end ^.^ i hope you're all excited for the final five chapters!! 
> 
> i'll be traveling next friday which means i'll have plenty of time to write, but not sure i'll have wifi--worst care scenario, i'll update on sunday instead!
> 
> as always you can find me over on [twitter](http://twitter.com/kaylawhitwrites) or [tumblr](http://imreadingabook.tumblr.com) if you want to say hello!


	21. Slip

Keith hit the console in front of him as the Paladins’ voices grew louder—too loud, so he couldn’t think. Their anger was justified but this was his choice; those were his people, dying on the ground. If Pidge and Hunk were able to save a few more civilians because Keith took his time delivering himself to the enemy—that was fine. That was worth it.

Red seemed to understand what he needed, because one by one the Paladins’ voices were muted. Keith could still see them, all worried eyes and white knuckles, but he didn’t need to listen to what he already knew.

“Keith, buddy.”

Keith ground his heel against the floor, because Red was a little traitor.

“You know this is a trap, right? They lied to us when we first came to this planet to help them. There’s no way to prove they aren’t lying now. Anything could happen once they get their hands on you,” Lance said. There was anger in his voice, though it wasn’t directed toward Keith, and a quiet sort of mourning that _was_ his fault. 

“I know,” Keith said, tipping his head back against the pilot’s seat. He was so _tired_. “That’s why you all need to help Pidge and Hunk, while I’m . . . you know. Please. Just keep as many people safe as you can.”

There had already been so few of them left. How many would survive today? Most of the civilians would be okay—he had to reassure himself of that. The enemy wanted to attack the Marmora base first, so all of the families—all of those fledglings with shedding feathers who hadn’t seen enough sunlight—they would be alright.

He watched Lance glance to the side, and Keith wondered if it was because there was another Paladin speaking, or if the enemy made more threats because Keith hadn’t landed yet.

“You can’t just expect us to give up on you,” Lance said. “You can’t tell me to let them take you.”

“I’m asking you to respect my decision,” Keith said, leaning forward. “They gave me a choice. I made it. Tell me you wouldn’t do it for your friends, Lance. Tell me you wouldn’t do it for your planet.”

Lance wouldn’t meet his eyes, so that was how Keith knew the human understood him.

“I don’t want to argue about it,” Keith said, gripping the controls. Red drifted, searching for a spot to land. There were rows of fallen, smoldering trees like scars in the forest below. There were too many empty spaces where the enemy had forced their way through nature. So much was simply _gone_. “Talk about something nicer.”

“Okay.” Lance’s exhale was a little shudder, as Blue and Black trailed Red across the sky. “Have I told you about the ocean?”

There was a space that was clear enough, near some of the crushed trees. Keith headed for it—slowly, because he didn’t want to startle the enemy into doing anything worse, and because he knew every second he procrastinated bought more time for the humans to help his people escape. There was so much damage to the forest; there was so little left.

Keith’s hands strangled the controls, but his descent remained steady.

“I don’t know what an ocean is,” Keith admitted, wondering if something was lost in translation.

Lance sighed, tucking his head to the side as he stared at Keith through the little electronic screen. “I’ll take you there one day,” he said, and Keith ignored the skip that brought to his heart. “There are so many planets with oceans, but Earth’s is the best. Water, stretching for miles and miles—endlessly—all the way across the horizon. Sandy beaches. Warm sunlight. Waves rolling in, like thunder.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. He knew cities and forests, and the little streams and lakes that sat beneath the canopy. So much water seemed . . . absurd. He couldn’t really picture it.

“My wings would get wet,” he pointed out to Lance, who snorted.

“I’d be there, so you wouldn’t care. We can dig our toes in the sand, and you’d probably get all grumpy and splash me in the face, and you probably wouldn’t like wearing sunscreen. But I’d bring a big umbrella for you, and make a nest out of towels underneath it. You could hunt seagulls all day, if you wanted. Sometimes the water is so clear, you can see right through it, so you wouldn’t need to worry about something swimming up and surprising you. I’d still probably try to sneak up and dunk you under, at least once,” Lance said.

Keith only had enough context to understand half of what Lance was saying, but the cadence of his voice was so soothing that it didn’t really matter. It kept him distracted, while Red landed on churning earth. Keith closed his eyes, trying to picture endless water, and sunshine, and wrapping Lance in his wings while he dried out his feathers.

“You could never sneak up on me,” Keith said dismissively, while his wing gave a little twinge of pain, and he opened his eyes. “I would attack you first.”

“It’s on, bird boy,” Lance smirked, while Keith slipped out of the pilot’s seat.

“And then?” Keith asked, wanting to touch the screen. Even through that he could only see part of Lance’s face because of the helmet, but—it was enough.

“Then I’d probably kiss you,” Lance said. “And your lips would taste like salt, and you’d stop being grumpy. You’d realize I was right, and it is the best place in the universe.”

Keith grumbled deep in his throat, before his fangs poked out a little. “I’d probably kiss you back,” he said, before he turned away from the screen.

It made his stomach drop, peering through Red’s open mouth at the decimated forest floor. So much greenery, reduced to splinters and mud. Keith steadied himself against Red for a moment, feeling a pulse of heat from the metal beneath his fingers. Although he knew that Red thought he was making a stupid decision, the Lion wasn’t going to stop him.

That made Keith feel a little better. Obviously this was a trap. But the enemy would be even more reckless, if they tried attacking Voltron itself. Red, and the Paladins, they would all be fine. Allura would be alright. Red would fly with her again, and they could go back to . . . saving the universe. He just hoped that would include helping his people out, first.

Keith pulled in a stuttering breath, before walking out of Red.

“—ith. I—” The translator hooked over his ear hissed feedback as it struggled to remain connected to whatever kind of communicator Pidge had linked it with in the Lions. He wasn’t even sure if he could identify who was speaking to him; his lion was no longer blocking anyone for him. Did it even matter? The voices were just a tumult of emotions without Red to help filter through them.

Ruffling his feathers, ignoring the stinging pain in his wing, Keith stepped back onto solid ground. It was quiet, with the enemy holding back their firepower. Quiet, but there was rumbling within the forest, as in places Keith couldn’t see, broken trees continued to fall. There were calls in the distance—the dying, still scrabbling to hold onto this life. He hoped the noise belonged to the enemy.

He hoped his mother was safe, and that she wouldn’t know what he was doing until it was over. Keith wondered if Lance would be the one to find her, to tell her that Keith had been taken all over again, but that was a thought that speared through his heart so he shook his head to scatter the words away into meaningless fear. Keith was good at pretending not to be afraid.

Lifting his chin, wings lifted as much as his injury would allow, Keith bared his fangs at the enemy ship kicking up wind as it lowered itself across from him.

“—almost finished loading the civilians,” Pidge’s voice came through his translator. 

That was good. That was fine. The enemy ship hadn’t even landed yet, and Keith hoped he could delay them a little further when they came out to get him. Last time—

_It had been so dark, and one of the other Blades was falling, and Keith had been pinned down and trapped and_ stuck _and then he’d opened his eyes and it’d been so bright he’d been afraid he would never see anything again. He’d been afraid that lab was the last thing he’d ever see. White lights and metal choking his throat and scientists, pulling at his wings, poking at him, talking about him like he wasn’t even there like he didn’t even matter like they’d already won the war._

Keith wondered if they would do things differently, this time. If they’d realized there was no way he would have been able to escape, that it had only been dumb luck that the power had been killed in the laboratory because of the Paladins. That if they dragged him down there again and chained him tight and threatened to hurt his people if the humans came near the city, they could . . . The enemy could keep him as long as they liked.

Although he had never expected to survive very long in the lab, Keith tried not to think about how long they would keep him alive now that he’d angered them. What would they want from him, now? What did they want to prove?

There were shadows growing on the ground, so Keith knew that Shiro and Lance were near, in their Lions hovering high above. Even if he only had garbled voices in his ear, even if his wings were twitching and pain seared through the muscle, he was not alone.

The enemy ship loomed closer. Their ships had always seemed intimidating, when his people had none. But after seeing the enormity of the Castle-ship, the speed and strength and _beauty_ of the Lions, these enemy ships were crudely made in comparison. Hardly worthy of flight.

But the one facing him hadn’t landed.

Keith tapped a finger against his translator—the interference ringing in his ear couldn’t have been his fault, because he couldn’t have broken it when Pidge hadn’t ever told him about the updates she’d made. She’d upgraded the translator just because she could. He didn’t deserve her.

“—ut of th—”

“—ing, they’re just—”

“Keith, I thi—”

It was giving him a headache. 

Maybe the enemy thought he wouldn’t come quietly and they were trying to strategize against him. Though he did take great pleasure in that, he knew they wouldn’t underestimate him, so their restraints would be . . . unkind. But their caution would help Hunk and Pidge. The Paladins had said they were nearly through with helping the civilians; maybe they’d had a chance to find some of the Blades as well.

Keith stopped poking at his translator when the ship in front of him started to rumble. Instead of lowering down onto the destroyed forest floor . . . its weapons system was warming up.

Stepping backward, wings tucked close against his back, Keith felt the air around him heat like it was prepared to burn. He shook off the memory of old smoke and destruction that threatened to drag him under, because he couldn’t afford to lose any time, he couldn’t afford to think about _the enemy filling the skies, and there was nowhere to run. His father, dead. Friends, dead. His mother telling him that if they didn’t leave, they would be killed, too. There wasn’t any time to mourn or think or feel or_

The enemy wasn’t going to give Keith the chance to escape, because they weren’t going to capture him at all.

Even facing down the literal barrel of death, Keith felt the slightest twinge of relief. There would be no white lab coats and white lights and blinding white pain. He wouldn’t have to be afraid—wouldn’t have to pretend he _wasn’t afraid at all_. But he would go with regret.

He wished he’d been able to return home a few days earlier, to spend a little more time with Krolia.

He wished he’d kissed Lance before getting into Red.

There was only shouting, screaming, in his ear now, so Keith took off his translator, tucking it away. He didn’t want to hear his friends, while . . . while—

Their weapons were aimed at him then, and they were firing, and flames were rushing at him, hot and molten and destructive, the things that had torn apart his life over and over and over again. And Keith wondered what the Paladins would do, after he was gone, and if the enemy would claim that it was their right to execute any escaped prisoner. 

There was a quiver of movement to his left.

Then _pain_ , sudden and jarring and betraying because Keith had expected this to happen quickly, that it would be fast, and the _hurt_ grew so large it shattered his thoughts into tiny irreparable pieces. He was knocked off his feet, _hard_ , and the flames were roaring, and _it hurt so much_ and everything was dark and _he wanted it to stop why wouldn’t it stop_ and then

Keith exhaled.

And it stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to update!!! Let's celebrate, Keith! oh.... wait....
> 
> I apologize in advance if there are any obvious mistakes/something doesn't make sense; please let me know! I edited this after a 13 hours workday RIP my grammar.
> 
> Thank you all for your comments on my last chapter!! Your reactions to Keith's journey keep me going :D 
> 
> as always you can find me over on [twitter](http://twitter.com/kaylawhitwrites) or [tumblr](http://imreadingabook.tumblr.com) if you want to say hello!


	22. Undershoot

He wasn’t going to make it.

Limbs too short and hand stretching outward, reaching—reaching—as his heels skid across metal and he started to slip. Because the world was rumbling around him, crumbling and breaking and destroyed. The trigger already pulled; the consequences of that, stuck in the future hurtling toward him _fast_.

_He_ would be fast.

He would be _faster_.

\- - -

He wasn’t going to make it.

His lungs were smoke and the world was fire. When he breathed he choked; when he choked it felt like giving up, like the flames that had always smoldered within him had finally been smothered. Pain was only another part of his body. It lingered in his wing, his legs, his face; it felt like someone had taken red hot metal and pressed it against his cheek until the flesh burned and peeled and screamed and screeched.

His body hit the ground, _hard_ , so his fangs bit into his lip and blood dripped. The rest of him followed, all clumsy, insensible weight as his head hit—metal, that was metal, not grass and dirt. His cheek slammed against it and then all he could see was white. Fractured, brilliant, comforting white. If he tried to think, the words escaped him. If he tried to move, the motivation floated away.

He felt like he had forgotten something.

That worry drifted away as soon as it arrived. The sheen of white across his vision began to fade, speckling like stars over a clear night.

He felt like he had forgotten something.

He felt like—

The metal pulled away from his face—pulled away from where it had started to suction against the wound on his cheek. This pain was red, flaring and angry and _mean_ , digging into his core, until his fangs were snapping and his chest was heaving and _he felt like he had forgotten something_ as something cool slipped across his arm. Ice filled his veins, and the darkness reached for him, and just as he remembered he didn’t want to return to it, he also knew it was too late.

\- - -

When Keith woke, there was only white. Bright, blinding lights overhead pulsed faintly against his sore eyes. Sickening white, terrifying white, that made him pull back with a groan, that sounded too much like a whimper, and transferred into another groan. The pain pulled against him, once, wrapping around his entire body in an uninvited embrace, before slipping back beneath a blanket of fog.

It took him a very long time to figure out that he could move. Or maybe it was only a few seconds; it felt like he’d smashed his head against something, several times, so it was difficult to concentrate on anything for more than a fleeting moment. His fingers twitched, and his muscles ached; when he finally managed to lift his head, the room spun around him for a terrifying, dizzy moment.

There was a smear of black, grey, and red near the doorway. Ashes. Blood? No, they were feathers, and his mother’s purple hair poked over the top of a curving wing.

It looked like Krolia was asleep. And when Keith glanced past her, he could see that he’d been wrong about the lighting. Not all of it was white; some was distinctly blue, and there was an open doorway a few feet away from her that eased something in his chest.

But he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. His head fell back, and he slept.

\- - -

When Keith woke _again_ , pain flickered like static in his veins. Someone was standing over him.

_Coran_ his mind supplied while he realized the Altean was drawing away from him. _Not bright. Not the enemy. He was fine._

“Are you awake?” Coran asked, peering down toward him with his arms pulled up almost protectively toward his chest. “Or are you . . . not?”

It seemed like such an obvious question that Keith wondered if there was something wrong with him, so he only stared. He wanted to frown, but that pulled oddly at his cheek.

“Awake, I think. He hasn’t started biting,” Krolia said, prodding Coran out of the way until Keith could only see his mother. Her wings were tucked tight against her back, and when she lifted her arm, there were bandages wrapped around her hand. “You’ve been quite the menace.”

“Oh, it’s been no trouble at all!” Coran said hastily, but the way he rubbed his forearm made Keith think otherwise. “Very understandable, to be a bit discombobulated as we tried to get the medication just right. We couldn’t just pop you into a healing pod! Although your physiology is similar to ours, there were a few bits of trial and error to sort through, and—”

Coran seemed to realize that Keith was fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Well, we’ve had to taper off on the medication a little. I’m sorry if you’re feeling any discomfort, my boy, but I don’t think it would be good to overwhelm your system for much longer,” Coran said. “You’ll be right as an Arblanian hornak in no time!”

“Thank you. Thank you for taking care of me,” Keith said carefully, though he didn’t understand half of what Coran was saying. He needed medication for _what_? Had he been sick? Was the translator misspeaking for the Altean? But . . . no. He remembered the enemy, and the fire, and _pain_. Lifting his hand, Keith started to poke at his cheek before Krolia wrenched his fingers away.

“Coran, would you give us a few minutes?” Krolia suggested in that tone of hers that didn’t invite any argument.

“Right! Of course! I’ll just go check on the . . . something!” Coran said, while he backed out of the room.

“How long have I been asleep?” Keith asked, trying to pull himself upright before he realized what the heaviness weighing on him was. His wings, spread out on either side of him, laid out neatly on tables that were pushed up against the bed. There were new bandages nestled among the feathers. Just thinking about the effort it would take to shift them made his head want to tip forward. “How am I still alive?”

“You haven’t been sleeping. You were unconscious, for a while,” Krolia said. “And then when you finally woke up—or we _thought_ you woke up—you started with the biting, and the screaming, so Coran helped us keep you . . . relaxed. For a little while.”

Keith stared at her. He wasn’t very good at waiting.

“A week,” Krolia finally said. “Maybe . . . two.”

“ _Maybe_?” Keith repeated; his mother only shrugged as if it wasn’t a significant difference. 

“I can’t believe you did that,” Krolia said after a long moment, where Keith wasn’t sure if he’d fallen asleep in the interim.

He knew what _that_ was, or could at least guess. His memory was fuzzy, and if he thought too hard about what would happen Keith felt like the sharp-edged past would reach out and scratch him, but there had been the trade. Him, for peace. Him, for _time_. Before the enemy had decided they would rather see him dead than allow the rest of his kind to ever think they could escape the enemy’s wrath.

“I had to,” Keith said. “You would have done the same. Any of us would.”

“I can’t believe you did that,” Krolia said again, and this time Keith felt her fingers brushing back his hair, while she was not-quite looking at him. “I’m so proud of you, Keith. There are so many who owe their lives to you. We could have lost _everything_.”

Keith knew he was losing his battle with consciousness; his mother’s face blurred, until finally he had to close his eyes. Pain throbbed in a steady beat against his temples.

“But if you do anything that reckless again, I’ll kill you,” Krolia said.

They both knew she didn’t mean it. 

He was too much like his father.

\- - -

“Stop trying to sit up, Keith.”

He hadn’t even realized what he was doing, remembered where he was, until he was halfway awake and hissing because of the pain in his ribs.

“I said stop!” His mother sounded more exasperated now, as his hands pressed against the mattress beneath him. It was soft, but not as good as any nest.

“What’s wrong with me?” Keith asked, waiting until his ribs gave a particularly painful twinge before he let Krolia help him lay back. “What happened?”

“We were fighting the enemy—” Krolia started, but Keith shook his head. The movement made his vision wobble, and nausea crawled up the back of his throat.

“I remember that part,” Keith said. He’d walked closer to the enemy ship, and he’d been so afraid but good at pretending he had no fear, and then everything had been on fire, and there’d been so much pain. 

“The human saved you,” Krolia said, sitting back in the chair tucked beside Keith’s bed. “He was the closest and realized what was happening, when the enemy . . .”

Krolia’s frown might as well have been poison.

“Lance saved me?” Keith asked. He didn’t remember _Lance_ , just fire, and pain, and when Keith reached up to touch his sore cheek, Krolia growled at him.

“I will personally knock you unconscious again if you don’t stop,” Krolia said. “You’re _healing_. You’re too large to fit into one of their pod contraptions.”

Right. Because of the wings.

He knew that he must have really worried her, if she was threatening violence. He knew that meant it must have been bad.

“Can I see him?” Keith asked, digging his fingers into the sheets so they wouldn’t be tempted to wander over to his sore ribs next. “Is he hurt?”

This room was small, not like the infirmary Keith had woken in when he’d first accidentally arrived in the Castle-ship. There were no other beds Lance could have been resting on. But the humans did have the healing pods, so even if Lance had been injured, he would have been fine long before Keith woke. Probably. He had to be.

“The Paladins have been very busy,” Krolia said, which wasn’t really an answer at all. “ _But_ , I can see if I can find your human.”

Keith knew she was teasing, but he really didn’t mind her referring to Lance in that way. The human didn’t belong to Keith, any more than Keith could belong to Lance, but they fit together in a way that made Keith want to trap Lance in his nest and keep him there.

“Just stay here and rest while I’m gone,” Krolia said, kissing Keith’s forehead before squeezing his hand. Her wings were tucked tight against her back as she left through the open doorway, so he knew something was worrying her. He was just so _tired_.

He couldn’t keep his eyes open.

\- - -

Disoriented, unsure if he’d only blinked or if he’d slept for days, when Keith woke, Pidge was leaning too close to his face.

He hissed. She smiled and patted his uninjured cheek. “I missed you, too,” she said, but she leaned back again to put some space between them. “I can’t believe that for once, your translator came out of something in one piece.”

Oh. She’d been checking on her tech. Keith was quite proud of himself for managing to protect it, even if _this_ time absolutely wouldn’t have been his fault if it had shattered.

“What _did_ I break?” Keith asked, knowing she would be more honest with him. A quick look around the room revealed that Krolia was gone. Maybe she’d returned to find him asleep. Maybe she’d sent Pidge instead of Lance. Keith didn’t know, and it was beginning to make him angry, and when he was angry he made stupid decisions. “Why am I trapped in here?”

“You aren’t trapped,” Pidge sighed, gaze very judgmental behind her glasses. “You’re here because you wouldn’t be able to walk over to the door without passing out. Don’t try it. Keith, you almost died.”

“I know did,” Keith said dismissively. There’d been the fire, and the screaming before he’d taken off his translator, and then the pain.

“No, you don’t,” Pidge said, pointing at him. “You were, like, two seconds away from having your entire face burned off. Lance—Lance got to you in time, but Blue had to move so fast to get to you that you hit pretty hard, when she scooped you up. You were concussed. Broke a few ribs, and punctured a lung. If the Alteans weren’t crazy enough to prepare for any worst-case scenario—if Coran hadn’t known how to work the tech—you would have died, Keith. You stopped breathing.”

Oh. 

He didn’t remember that.

“Don’t do anything dumb like that again,” Pidge said.

“If you’re going to threaten to kill me over it you’re going to have to get in line,” Keith said, as the world smudged tiredly around Pidge’s face. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Pidge genuinely looked like she was considering it before she squirmed closer again—careful of his wing, his ribs, his face—to hug him.

“Can I see Lance?” Keith asked.

“Shut up,” Pidge said. “You owe me this.”

\- - -

There were people walking past the open doorway; Keith heard their footsteps, but couldn’t resolve enough strength to look out into the hallway each time they rudely went past without saying anything to him. He didn’t understand why the Paladins were pacing so much.

It wasn’t that he was _needy_ , but Shiro had left a while ago, and Keith had managed to stay awake for longer than five minutes which felt like a miracle in itself.

When he touched his chin, he could feel the edges of the bandages pressed against his cheek. They stretched pretty far, nearly up toward his eye, and he wondered what his skin looked like beneath them. Really, he should have just been thankful his sight was fine—that he was alive. Worrying over what he looked like was such a petty thing.

The skin he could see on his arms and legs was a collection of steadily healing bruises. His ribs were still the worst, aching horribly, but they didn’t make him want to throw up so much anymore if he accidentally shifted positions.

He thought he could probably try standing up. Fingers digging into the sheets, muscles straining, he pulled.

“Hey, Keith.”

Lance stood in the doorway, smile bright and beautiful, and his eyes looked like lakes—like oceans, whatever those were. Something inside of Keith, a hurt more painful than his ribs, eased instantly. He was there. He was there and alive and okay, and it had been incredibly stupid of him to try to save Keith, but . . .

“Come here,” Keith demanded impatiently, fangs flashing. But Lance lingered in the doorway.

His hands were tucked carefully behind his back.

\- - -

_Keith looked so small, facing down the Vidorians._

_Lance hated that he liked Keith because he was brave. That was exactly the kind of thing that tended to get people killed, and so many things in the universe had already been lost because of war. Nothing else needed to be torn apart—wasted._

_It didn’t matter that he could hear the other Paladins already forming a plan. Where Pidge and Hunk would go, now that they’d loaded up as many civilians and Blade members as they could find. What Shiro would do, because usually he had Allura to guide him on the whole diplomacy front, and they needed to at least pretend to be civil with the Vidorians so they could get Keith back._

_The Vidorians hadn’t even taken him yet and already the Paladins were planning for his recovery. No one got left behind, especially not when they remembered the way Keith had been when he’d first stumbled onto the Castle-ship. Wide-eyed, wild hair, with that collar locked around his neck, choking him._

_Shiro was the first to realize something was wrong._

_“Their weapons are powering on,” he said, sounding as puzzled as he looked as the Paladins eyed the readouts on their screens. “They’re getting ready to fire.”_

_“They can’t—” Pidge started, but Hunk broke through._

_“But Keith’s the only one down there!”_

_Blue, consciousness threaded and tangled and wrapped around Lance’s, shifted just a moment before his hands tightened on the controls. It was always Lance and Blue, his girl, and she was more than a best friend, more than family. Blue was an extension of him, like he was for her, and panic filled every seam and rivet of the ship just as much as it radiated from Lance’s skin._

_Shiro was shouting through the comms, trying to reopen the line the Vidorians had closed._

_Pidge and Hunk were taking off, in case the Vidorians turned their fire on them after . . ._

_After Keith._

_But Lance, he had his own job to do. He wasn’t the fastest or the smartest. He wasn’t a great leader, and didn’t have the best temperament. But he was accurate._

_Lance’s aim never missed._

_The Lion dove faster and Lance steadied the controls before letting Blue follow their trajectory on her own. Unbuckling himself from the pilot’s chair, he nearly fell to the floor as the force of their dive tugged him downward. He fought, pulling his way forward panel by panel, slipping down to where Blue’s mouth was widening, opening._

_There was Keith, a black and grey and red silhouette with rumbled wings. There was the fire, red and orange and white, hurtling toward him._

_Blue and Lance, they made it._

_Blue and Lance—they almost made it._

_Lance leaned out, one arm hooked around metal, grounding himself in Blue, the other reaching for Keith. There would only be one shot at this. One chance._

_Lance grabbed him._

_His arm snagged around Keith and Lance pulled, knowing the impact would hurt as Blue tilted her head back to send them both tumbling, slamming deep through to her interior. Most of the fire blasted against Blue’s side, hot and searing but not enough to pierce through her metal._

__Most _of it._

_The first tendrils of flame had already started to reach Keith when Lance had been there, grabbing for him, as fire pressed against Keith’s face, his chest, and Lance’s hand wrapped around him._

_Everything went black and blank for a moment as Lance hit the ground hard, jolted away from Keith. When he came to, everything seemed strangely calm, quiet. He was glad that he’d been wearing his helmet so he hadn’t had a chance to dent his skull. Someone was groaning, and he realized it was him, but it didn’t turn into a scream until he tried to sit up. Pressing his hand against the metal floor made his vision flatline; Lance gasped, teetering sideways. Some pieces of him felt broken and he was bruised, battered, but the tattered remnants of his black glove—_

_The part of him that had clutched Keith and pulled him to safety—_

_His hand—_

_Another strangled scream broke from his throat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this fic is centered around Keith, but I've been toying with the idea of this for a little while and then finally . . . this happened. My boys are just doing the best they can.
> 
> The next chapter will expand on the aftermath of the Vidorian attack and the recovery can begin!! So much Keith and Lance! I promise. You've all more than earned it! I loved all of your comments on the last chapter and they make me feel _slightly_ guilty about how I ended this one. Let me know what you think!
> 
> as always you can find me over on [twitter](http://twitter.com/kaylawhitwrites) or [tumblr](http://imreadingabook.tumblr.com) if you want to say hello!


	23. Lift

Lance had been avoiding Keith and he knew that probably made him a coward.

But he’d been very busy the past two weeks; there was still so much more for him and the other Paladins to do, except finally, _finally_ they seemed to have grown tired of him constantly pestering them for updates about Keith. Pidge had offered to patch into the med bay security cameras for him.

“So you can keep an eye on your boyfriend even if you won’t go talk to him,” Pidge had said.

Hunk was always after him whenever Lance sat down to eat. “You know Keith will want to see you when he wakes up.”

Even Krolia and Shiro had finally seemed annoyed with him, especially after Keith _did_ wake up and wasn’t trying to fight off anyone, anymore. Whatever weird alien medication Coran had decided to use for Keith had definitely worked and kept him completely out of it for the worst parts of healing. But whenever he’d struggled to the surface, just beneath waking, it was like Keith thought they were the Vidorians. That his enemies had actually gotten to him.

At least, that was what the others said.

It stung, it _hurt_ to know Keith was in pain, even though Lance knew rationally he couldn’t have done any better. Keith was alive—they both were alive, and—

And Shiro had sort of politely said that if Lance didn’t go down to see Keith himself, the Black Paladin was much stronger and would definitely be able to drag him down to the med bay.

“I just, uh. Wanted to see how you were doing,” Lance said, lingering awkwardly in the doorway. _Why did this feel so weird?_ He wanted to grab Keith’s face and memorize every inch of it with his lips and—maybe that was part of the problem. _Grabbing_ things. His hand shook behind his back, fingers twitching without his consent.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Keith said bluntly. Dios, Lance had missed that pouting frown and the lines that furrowed the alien’s brow. Even his fangs poking outward didn’t seem intimidating; they made Lance’s heart thump uncomfortably. Suddenly, the alien shifted, using the sheets to pull himself _almost_ upright. His left wing slid from the table it’d been spread across, awkwardly arching against his back.

“You shouldn’t be moving! Stop moving,” Lance said hastily, glancing around. As if there was a call button for some space nurse who would wrestle Keith back into the bed. Lance guessed _he_ was supposed to be the space nurse. And not even in like, a fun way. “I wasn’t avoiding you! No, no, I was just, uh . . . letting you sleep?”

Lance managed to duck before Keith’s pillow could smack into his face.

“You must be feeling a lot better, then,” Lance said mildly. Bird boy had pretty good aim.

“You’re being weirder than usual,” Keith said, eyes narrowing. It was like the cosmos was angry at Lance, too, and he knew he shouldn’t have been distracted by those pretty purple eyes but—he’d missed them. He’d missed _Keith_. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on I’m coming over there to kick your ass.”

When Lance grinned because he knew that if Keith tried to stand he’d just fall over, Keith hissed at him.

“Fine.” Lance stepped inside, tapping the panel beside the doorframe so the metal sealed itself behind him and they could have a little privacy. For a moment, Keith’s eyes widened, the lines of him all tensing as if he was going to bolt, before he seemingly forced himself to take a shuddering breath. “I’m going to need you to not freak out.”

If looks could kill . . . well, Keith would have been a serial killer months ago. But those cosmos eyes narrowed into slits, threatening to break Lance into pieces.

“I don’t know how much you remember about the . . . accident. I guess it wasn’t an accident. The Vidorians trying to execute you,” Lance said, reluctantly crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed. Keith’s leg shifted, shin pressing against Lance’s thigh. “It was totally heroic. I flew in there, last minute. Blue’s never moved so fast before. I got there just in time, to save the day. To save, uh . . . most of us. Most of the two of us. We were mostly fine.”

Tilting his head to the side, Keith let out a long breath through his nose. “Lance,” he said impatiently. “Is this about my wing? I already knew I wasn’t going to fly again. That isn’t your fault. It’s the enemy’s.”

They both glanced over toward Keith’s right wing, awkwardly draped over the bedside table. Keith hadn’t even bothered trying to move it. There was a weariness lingering in the muscles there that seemed to spread throughout the rest of his body. A tired sort of acceptance.

“Unless something else happened,” Keith said, gaze suspicious. Lance tried to loosen his shoulders, but ended up slumping instead. “ _Lance._ ”

“I didn’t want to come and see you because I’m pretty useless right now, okay?” Lance said, hating the noise that crept from his throat—a nervous laugh that had nothing at all to do with humor, unless he was the joke. “Everyone else has been busy saving the universe and I’m just trying to . . . put myself back together.”

He shifted, finally pulling his right hand from where he’d tucked it beneath his leg. Over the past few weeks he’d found that helped to keep it hidden away, to make him forget—to keep it still. When Lance sat it in his lap, his fingers twitched spasmodically. Involuntarily. Most of the skin was mottled, as if his hand had been clay that someone had pulled at, over and over again, leaving streaks of red against the brown.

“Lance—”

“It took a while for the other Paladins to get to us,” Lance said, and he knew he sounded like he was losing it, but there was nothing he could do about it, which made it worse. “The Vidorians were pretty fucking pissed that I didn’t let you die. They tried going after Pidge and Hunk, the civilians, but Shiro didn’t let that happen. And Allura, she got out of the pod just in time. Helped Coran bring everyone back safely. Shiro and Hunk had to give Red and Blue a little tow.”

When Lance glanced down, seeing Keith’s hand inching toward his, he felt like crying. Which was ridiculous, because they were alive and okay and on the Castle-ship, and having two working hands seemed a little excessive, anyway.

“And you were dying that whole time, Keith. I thought you were going to die. You couldn’t breathe, and—and then we couldn’t fit you into one of the pods, but we tried—we tried to figure it out. Coran figured out an alternative and it was—it was so close. You were almost gone,” Lance said, as Keith slowly threaded his fingers with Lance’s. He was glad the alien was squeezing him, hard, because there were only a few spots where he could feel how warm Keith’s skin was.

“Then Shiro had to—had to help me into a pod, but first it—we had to—I couldn’t go in with my glove on, and it was—it was still sticking . . . so . . . anyway. The pod did the best it could. Nerve damage. The pod can’t replace what’s already gone,” Lance said, watching as Keith turned over his hand, examining his palm. It was a little better; it still wasn’t very pretty. It was like the pod hadn’t really known what to do for him. The open wounds had disappeared, but some of the skin had been too damaged to regenerate. What had happened beneath the surface was worse.

It had been a very bad two weeks.

“Pidge said she’s working on some kind of creepy robot exoskeleton, so I can stop dropping everything,” Lance said. “She’s working on one for you, too.”

Keith’s other hand fisted in Lance’s shirt, dragging him forward, down—stubbornly, even though Lance protested because he knew he was going to end up hurting the alien. Pulling Lance’s hand upward, Keith’s lips grazed his knuckles. Then he tucked Lance against him, trembling hand trapped between them, good wing curving over the Paladin’s shoulders.

“We’ll be okay,” Keith said, voice muffled as he tucked his head into the crook of Lance’s neck. The human wondered what he was smelling there, as Keith’s feathers tickled his skin. “We’ll be alright, now.”

Lance knew Keith was trying to reassure them both.

\- - -

Keith kept glancing over toward Lance to make sure that he was still there, even though he could feel the reassuring warmth of the human pressed against his side. The bed in the med bay wasn’t nearly as good as a nest, but Lance had assured Keith that in a few days Coran would let him go back to his room. 

The next time he looked over toward Lance, the Paladin was staring at him. “You’re supposed to be resting, Keith,” Lance said, and he was close enough that Keith could nearly feel the words against his cheek, smell that Lance wasn’t actually annoyed with him. 

Shifting, he rolled onto his side, nose brushing against Lance’s. The human was tucked against his right wing, so Keith could wrap the more functional one around them both. Breathing deep, Keith smelled heady tiredness and the flickering spice of desire, threaded through that unique scent that was utterly _Lance_ and made Keith’s toes curl restlessly against the sheets.

“I don’t like being told what to do,” Keith said, and frowned when that made Lance laugh for some reason. He pretended to bite at Lance, who didn’t seem at all bothered by the fangs, and lifted his hand, probably to pull at the feathers tangled in Keith’s hair. They both paused, as Lance’s fingers refused to work correctly, and before he could hide his right hand again, Keith had it trapped in his. The muscles jumped tirelessly against his grasp.

“That was the understatement of the century,” Lance said quietly. He was pretending not to think about his hand; Keith could tell, because of the way the human’s jaw twitched, and his gaze fixed on his too intensely.

Keith put his fangs away.

“Lance,” he said, low and careful as if he was speaking to a fledgling about to leap off their first cliff. “We match.”

“What?” That wrinkle forming in Lance’s forehead eased, as he looked at Keith with confusion.

His tongue prodded at one of his fangs, before he pressed Lance’s hand down into his wing, covering some of the feathers. Brown skin against soft black and red and grey. An injured hand for an injured wing.

“Oh.” Lance was quiet for a moment, looking down at an angle that Keith thought was going to give him a headache. “You know what, bird boy? I never thought we’d be that kind of couple.”

“Couple?” Keith asked blankly, wondering if there was something being lost through his translator. Pidge had fine-tuned it enough that it shouldn’t have been much of a problem anymore.

“Yeah. Couple,” Lance repeated before meeting Keith’s eyes, eyebrow quirking. “You know. Well, I guess maybe you don’t know. We never talked about . . . well. Uh.”

For once, Lance seemed to be at a loss for words. 

“Is it okay if I say that you’re my boyfriend?” Lance asked. “I mean with the whole cultural thing about touching your wings and the way your mom keeps looking at me like she’ll kill me if I ever make you sad, I just thought that _you_ thought, also, that we’re in a relationship.”

“No,” Keith said sharply. He was angry. He could smell the confusion rolling from Lance, the alarm, but this was the human’s fault. Keith had . . . well. Maybe he hadn’t been very clear about things. The other Blades did tend to think he had issues about . . . talking. Ever since he’d arrived on the Castle-ship, he’d been steadily opening up to the Paladins, but things were bound to be overlooked in the interim, in the middle of a war.

“I thought you were my mate,” Keith said. “We shared a nest.”

“I—you—” Lance spluttered, while Keith patiently waited for Lance to get his thoughts in order. “I think we need to have a bigger discussion about how our cultures overlap and the terminology, and, uh . . . That doesn’t mean we’re married or anything, does it?”

Keith sort of knew what _married_ was, only because of late nights before they’d returned to his planet, when Shiro found him wandering and looking at the stars. Sometimes they talked, and Keith would listen, and Shiro spoke about how before he’d left Earth he’d _almost_ been married. The way he talked about that ending with his mate made Keith think of Krolia, whenever she mentioned his father. 

“No?” Keith said, wishing he could sound more certain. “I think that is a human thing. Unless you would like to be married?”

Lance seemed to lose his words for another moment, until Keith touched his nose against Lance’s.

“I mean, I won’t say _never_ , but . . .” Lance sighed, huffing, and pressed his lips against Keith’s, so neither of them needed to worry about talking for a long while.

\- - -

Keith was breathing so heavily he thought his lungs might burst right through his chest, but whenever Lance suggested he take a break, whatever energy Keith had left was directed into a glare. Apparently, Coran thought he could have a Keith-sized healing pod up and running soon, but the last time Pidge had visited Keith she’d said something very suspicious about how test runs kept electrocuting things.

It was no fun shambling through the halls of the Castle-ship with Lance, even if it did give the two of them an excuse to be very close together, when some parts of Keith still felt like they hadn’t decided if they wanted to come back from the dead.

“Do you want to—”

“No!” Keith growled, digging his hands into Lance’s arm so that his trembling, treacherous kneecaps would have all the support they needed. 

“The good news is we’re almost there,” Lance said mildly, as if Keith wasn’t hyperventilating. “The bad news is I think Krolia really will kill me when she sees you.”

That was a ridiculous notion; Krolia knew that Keith could kill Lance himself if it ever became necessary. Besides, he’d spent the last few days forcing Lance to spend most of his time in the med bay, because Keith knew he would be the easiest to wear down. Then Lance would want to help him leave.

The Paladins, and the Alteans, and Krolia, had all refused to answer any of his questions about the aftermath of the enemy’s attack. They said he was resting, that he didn’t need to worry about it. That he was safe. No matter how much he threatened to bite them, he couldn’t pry any information from them. Until Lance, finally, had agreed to show him something.

Fingernails jabbing into Lance’s arm, Keith started lurching forward again. Both wings tucked as close to his back as he could manage to help his balance. His right wing stuck out a little farther, muscles refusing to cooperate.

They made it to the end of the hallway, voices in the distance growing louder. Frowning, Keith realized he didn’t recognize some of them; maybe the Paladins were contacting someone to bring his people the help they needed.

When they reached the end of the hall he realized the noise _was_ his people. 

Creatures with wings were scattered around the lounge, filling the corners—draped across the rafters. They were walking in from other hallways as if they knew their way around the Castle-ship, talking among each other as if this was . . . normal. Krolia was in a corner, talking to a few other Blades Keith recognized. Most of the people were civilians.

“I don’t understand,” Keith said, blinking, trying to transpose his memories of the lounge—echoing, empty except for him, the humans, and Alteans—over this crowded space. These were his people. They were all from his home planet. They were all _here_.

“Obviously Hunk and Pidge weren’t going to just drop everyone back off on your planet when the Vidorians were busy trying to make sure you, you know, were dead,” Lance said, slinging an arm around Keith’s shoulders to keep him from toppling over. “So they flew back here, with everyone they’d evacuated. The Castle-ship is huge. We weren’t using most of the rooms anyway.”

They were . . . in space. His family, his people, they were all in space with him, in the ship that Keith had accidentally infiltrated several months ago.

“Did you drop me back there?” Keith asked Lance accusingly. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit something or hug Lance closer. “Did I hit my head again?”

“Nope,” Lance said cheerfully. “We brought everyone here. For now. The Vidorians won’t know where to find them. I think it’s safe to say they’re officially kicked out of the alliance, now. Everyone will be temporarily housed here until we’re able to find you a better planet to stay on.”

“A better . . . planet,” Keith repeated, still uncertain he wasn’t ill, or dreaming. There were children screaming down a hallway—screaming _happily_ , chasing after one of Pidge’s robots. There were clusters of feathers fallen and forgotten in nearly every corner. There was . . .

Lifting his head, Keith pulled in a deep breath.

He smelled his people, and Lance. He could smell the sharp undercurrent of their uncertainty, their anxiety. Scented the cool balm of relief. But there was something missing. Not threading through it all, staining the air, hovering above the crowd.

There was no fear. His people didn’t smell afraid anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Lance said, and regret rolled from him in waves. “I know that must be horrible to hear. All of you fought so hard for your home, but the forest—the Vidorians damaged it so much. There wasn’t much left, Keith. Even if we’d helped your people rebuild, if we tried to give you better defenses and forced the Vidorians into a truce, they’ve proven they’re willing to lie. We couldn’t trust them not to try hurting all of you again. And, hey, there are so many beautiful planets out there! I can’t wait for you to see them. Most of them won’t even mind sharing a little space. We have a few nice, empty-ish ones we want you all to try out, gigantic trees and all—”

Lance’s voice cut off, because Keith’s arms wrapped suddenly around his neck.

It was too much. The humans—they were too much. Yes, Keith’s chest ached, and he mourned for the home he hadn’t been able to say goodbye to. Even if it had tried murdering him several times over, it was where his people had always belonged. But the sacrifice was worth it. Keith would do it a million times over, if it meant his people could feel safe again. If they could be free to live without war.

“Thank you,” Keith said. “But if you ever take this long to tell me good news again, I’ll hurt you.”

\- - -

When Lance woke on the last night Keith was supposed to spend in the infirmary, the alien was gone.

If things on the castle-ship had been normal, Lance might have been more worried. But the place was literally filled with other aliens who would recognize Keith and look after him, if it seemed like he needed some help. Still, Lance dragged himself from the empty bed, mostly one-handed.

Keith’s room was empty, untouched since they’d descended to his home planet. The space was so _clean_ and echoing that it jarred Lance, a contrast to his own room cluttered with mementos from the planets he’d visited. The nest in the corner was empty, so Lance shut the door.

Keith wasn’t in the lounge or the kitchen. There were a few of his people still up and walking around, mostly Blades who also seemed restless; they nodded their acknowledgement to Lance, but didn’t seem inclined to talk.

Keith wasn’t in the Lions’ hanger, either.

Lance paced over to Blue, pressing his forehead against her cool metal. Guilt and love emanated from her, before he could hush her. When he pressed his right hand against her, it felt like it didn’t tremble half as much.

“You saved us,” he reminded her, trying to convey that through their connection. If Blue hadn’t moved so quickly, if she hadn’t been able to fly them out of there while Lance’s hand was—well, she’d gone above and beyond. If Lance needed to face the vastness of space, with one hand only partially working, he didn’t want to do it without her. 

Blue rumbled beside him, and he felt their connection stretch between them, all trust and love and _exhaustion_ , and then a flicker of warmth beneath it all, speed and recklessness—Red? And _Keith_.

“Thanks, beautiful,” Lance said, patting her gently. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He found Keith on one of the observation decks.

There were med bay blankets puddled around his feet. Keith’s wings were tucked around him instead, one half-slumped because the muscles weren’t quite working. A steady, low growl emerged from beneath the feathers.

“I can smell you standing there, Lance. Go away,” Keith said, wings pulling closer around him. His right wing protesting, shifting slowly, and Keith stuck a hand out, as if he—

Oh. He was trying to cover some of his feathers. 

Pidge had left the healing pod conversion to Coran and Hunk, who were _nearly_ certain that if they needed to shove one of the winged aliens inside it would work well with their physiology and not suffocate and/or electrocute them. Instead she’d been working on the prototype she’d mentioned to Lance, during the two weeks when he’d . . . When Keith had been out cold, and Lance had been . . . not good.

Earlier that day, she’d fitted the slim pieces of metal over part of Keith’s wing. Lance wasn’t sure about the science behind it, something about stimulating the damaged muscle and compensating for it by moving under its own power. All he knew was that when he’d started calling Keith _robot bird_ he’d remembered that Keith’s left wing worked just fine, when it knocked Lance off his feet.

But when Pidge had turned the device on, it’d started smoking and Keith’s pupils had blown wide. They’d managed to get it off and away without burning him, but several of his feathers were badly singed. Most of them had broken off, scattered around the observation deck like afterthoughts.

“Don’t look at me,” Keith snapped, purple eyes peeking at Lance over the curve of his wing. “Lance. I said _go away_.”

“Uh-huh. And I decided to ignore that, because you appear to be in a precariously fragile state of mind and I don’t really understand what’s pissing you off so much, but I’m _trying_ to understand,” Lance said, sitting down on the cool metal floor. Next to them, the viewing window took up nearly the entire wall, an endless stretch of stars sprawled out there. No planets, not yet, because they weren’t going to risk taking Keith’s people near anyone else until they were certain they would be safe.

“The good news is that Pidge said she’d have something ready to test for me, next,” Lance said, looking down at his fingers. They quivered, like they were constantly wrought with indecision. Even if they didn’t hurt very much—the healing pod had taken care of that, at least—he couldn’t be their sharpshooter until he was . . . fixed. “She’s pretty sure she won’t be burning any of my skin off.”

He couldn’t even clench his fist. It had taken him too long to help Pidge with Keith, because when the smoke had started, Lance had sworn he could smell burning flesh. Rationally, he was fine—knew he was fine, Keith was alright, Pidge was safe. But it felt like—he’d remembered—fabric burning into his skin and it was like his body was screaming for help but there was nothing he could do—nothing he could try to save himself, or Keith, and he’d felt so _useless_.

“Your hand is still very pretty,” Keith said, his own slinking from beneath the wing to grab Lance’s. Patting him awkwardly, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. “Pretty, human hand.”

Lance tilted his head to the side, thoughts colliding. “Wait. Keith, were you hiding up here because you thought a few singed feathers made you ugly?”

Keith let out an unhappy grumble, teeth gnashing together almost gently, which was terrifying in itself.

“You were pouting up here because you didn’t think your wing looked pretty anymore?” Lance had never assumed Keith would be vain; it was utterly fascinating, until Keith punched him on the arm.

They sat there quietly, until Keith allowed Lance to scoot closer, tucking himself beneath Keith’s arm and wing as they stared up at the stars.

“You know Pidge is just trying to get the tech right before we find a place for your people,” Lance said after a long moment. “She’s worried that something else will happen to them, and that you wouldn’t be able to fly away.”

“You wouldn’t choose a planet where that would happen,” Keith said.

There was only trust lingering in his expression, no fear about where his people would end up. It was incredible, that Keith had gone from being convinced the Paladins were collaborating with the enemy to knowing they would protect the people he loved. There was no doubt creasing his brow; even his frown was almost gone.

“I’m sure you’ll like it there,” Lance said. “Wherever you all end up. You’ll be happy.”

He cleared his throat, as Keith’s eyes narrowed slightly and he looked a little confused. But then Lance couldn’t look at him any longer, knowing that Keith’s fight was over—it was time for him to rebuild with his people, to start over. But Voltron, their war was only just beginning. They had so much left to do. If Lance could manage to piece himself back together, if he could still be useful . . . He’d probably be fighting for a very long time.

Keith shifted, squirming until he could rest his head on Lance’s shoulder. Lance pulled one of the med bay blankets around their knees. Together they looked out across the stars—and Lance tried not to think about the great distance between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a longer chapter! The sad boys got a little away from me but I tried keeping it as fluffy as possible. I hope I didn't skim over Lance too much--this is Keith's story, but maybe eventually I'll write something more about the two weeks I skimmed over because he is _not_ dealing well with his injuries. But now they have each other! WOO. Please let me know if anything didn't make any sense!
> 
> There'll be one more chapter, then an epilogue! I hope you all have enjoyed so far. You've made my first experience on this site a truly amazing one!! I love all of your comments. I didn't even really leave you on a cliffhanger this week! See you next Friday!
> 
> as always you can find me over on [twitter](http://twitter.com/kaylawhitwrites) or [tumblr](http://imreadingabook.tumblr.com) if you want to say hello!


	24. Touchdown

“It’s your choice, Keith. You shouldn’t feel like you need to come to me for approval,” Shiro said. When he glanced away from the stars, his eyes were crinkled at the edges, so Keith knew that Shiro was sort of pleased that Keith had come to him, anyway. Then the alien pretended to be busy preening his feathers, smothering the smile that wanted to emerge in return.

It hurt too much, knowing that he only had a few days left. But Keith was trying his best to enjoy it while he could.

“I thought you would want to know,” Keith said. They’d found each other as they usually did, wandering the halls when they were supposed to be asleep. The last fight they’d been through had only left them with more reasons to want to exhaust their minds before toppling into beds and nests and trying not to dream. “I wanted to be sure that it was alright.”

“I thought you knew us by now,” Shiro said, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the clear glass behind him. Stars sprawled there, winking and bright and beautiful. Keith wished he could always have a view like this—and that the humans could stay a part of it, too. “We just want you to make your own decision, Keith. We want you to be happy.”

It had been so long since he’d been offered a choice in anything more than what weapon he wanted to take with him on a mission. With the way his people had been starving, Keith hadn’t even had many choices over what food he’d been able to eat. Where he could hunt, _what_ he could hunt, when it was safe to do so. The Castle-ship was filled with choices, and safety, and so was the planet they’d decided to settle his people on.

“I know that I’ll be happy,” Keith said, fidgeting again with his feathers. They were beginning to look quite nice again, after everything that had happened on-planet. He could barely see the place where his wing had been split open, muscle damaged. The feathers Pidge had singed had been plucked free. Keith had her check to make sure they were growing back, almost daily. “It’s just that I’ll also be sad.”

“That’s the hard thing about figuring out the future,” Shiro said, lips twisting into something rueful. “The good thing is that what you choose isn’t permanent, Keith. We’ll always be here for you. You know that we are, even if what you want to do changes. Right?”

“Right.” Keith tucked his wings behind his back; he was getting better at physically shifting his right wing those last few inches until it could comfortably settle behind him. Then he huffed. “I just want it to be over with, already.”

“Remember, patience yields—” Shiro tried reaching over to mess with Keith’s hair, gasping indignantly when Keith’s fangs bit down on his prosthetic. Tooth screeched against metal, and the alien looked rather pleased with himself and his quick reflexes. Training had helped his recovery immensely.

“Stop telling me that,” Keith said, shoving Shiro’s arm away from him. “I get it.”

“You get what?” Shiro blinked innocently—it was startling how quickly the largest human’s expression could change, from stoic and calming to something more mischievous. “Oh, you understand that patience—”

“Shiro!” Keith rumbled, biting off a growl that threatened to turn into a laugh as he backed away from the Paladin, clapping his hands over his ears. 

“Keith,” Shiro kept the same tone, almost whining as the alien started to inch down the hall.

“You’re going to wake everyone up,” Keith said accusingly.

“No, I think you are,” Shiro said, tilting his head to the side. “I was just trying to have a nice talk with you, give you some advice, like—”

Keith screeched, but he was smiling as he turned and ran, wings flaring behind him as Shiro chased after him.

\- - -

“I’m glad that you came to speak to me. I realize that you do not have much free time at the moment and it does mean a lot that you used it to find me,” Allura said, patting the seat beside her. Keith sat down in a rush of feathers.

After his planet, when Allura had come out of the healing pod while Keith had still been unconscious, he’d been trying to check in with her as often as possible. Sometime from afar, as he helped his people pack and organize themselves, sometimes forcibly seating himself beside her at dinner so he could demand to know the status of her health.

After all, she’d only been injured because he’d dragged her down to his planet to fight. Then he’d accidentally started to pilot her Lion, without really asking anyone for permission. Red had assured him that he didn’t need any, and that was the way Keith tended to behave in any case. It was partially why Keith and Red had fit together so well.

“I wanted to thank you again for everything you’ve done for me,” Keith said. Ever since he’d snuck onto their ship and proved that he wasn’t there to hurt them, she’d risked so much—too much—to give his people a better life. Allura hadn’t asked for anything in return, which at first had seemed suspicious, but Keith now realized was just . . . _Allura_. “You really didn’t need to do . . . any of this.”

“Of course I did,” Allura said, and there was that furrow in her brow that said she’d never thought there was another choice. That she would always help someone, if they needed it and there was something she could do. “We’re here to defend the universe. You’ve helped us try to spread some of that peace, Keith. Your people deserve to have some assistance in their relocation, and _you_ have not asked too much of us, either.”

When Keith ruffled his feathers a little, Allura reached for his hand. Unlike with most of the Paladins, he felt like pulling away from her would have been too insulting, so he tried to quietly endure it.

“The Red Lion saw greatness in you, Keith. Do not doubt that the rest of us have seen it as well,” Allura smiled. “What comes next will be even greater.”

\- - -

Whenever Lance wasn’t in the lab with Pidge or hiding somewhere on the Castle-ship with Keith, he was helping. There was too much work to be done to use one barely functioning hand as an excuse to not help out.

There were supplies that needed to be gathered from other planets in the alliance, donations of food and building materials so that Keith’s people wouldn’t be starting out on a foreign planet with absolutely nothing. Everything needed to be sorted, and boxed, and organized, and it was _so infuriatingly boring_ but whenever Lance felt like his head was going to explode, he realized how happy Keith looked.

It wasn’t so much in his expression, because in the face Keith remained grumpy, all frowns and grumbles and baring his fangs. But the way he carried himself—even with his injured wing, he didn’t always have his wings tucked up tightly against his back like someone was about to attack him. His shoulders were looser, forehead smoother, and he walked less like he was trying to stab the ground with his feet. 

So it was worth it, even if Lance felt a little like he was breaking. He was trying not to count down the days until everyone would leave. Trying not to think about the way Krolia looked whenever he caught her staring at him, as if she wanted to cry, but he’d never actually seen any of the aliens crying so wasn’t entirely sure that was a thing they could do. It didn’t matter that he would be alone, and useless, and the Castle-ship would be so echoingly _empty_.

Keith was happy.

So every night, Lance sprawled out in Keith’s nest—he’d once suggested that Keith come to his room, and had the alien go on a tirade about how human beds were inferior—and tried to stop thinking. He tried to focus on that little line that appeared between Keith’s eyebrows as he practically smothered Lance in blankets, trying to make him comfortable. The sigh that escaped his throat when Keith finally fell asleep. The warm embrace of his feathers, wrapped around both of them, even if it made things difficult when Lance realized he needed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and Keith wouldn’t let him go.

Keith was surprisingly territorial.

But on the nights when Keith was restless, when his feathers were all ruffled and the blankets too uncomfortable and he’d slip away as soon as he thought Lance wouldn’t notice, the Paladin didn’t follow. He knew Keith would find Shiro, that the two needed each other in a way he couldn’t understand. He told himself that was the only reason why he didn’t follow, and instead burrowed his head into a pillow and inhaled that sharp, wild scent that was _Keith_.

It wasn’t because he was afraid of looking out at all those stars and thinking about how soon, there’d be just as much space between the two of them.

\- - -

The night before his people were set to move down to the new planet that had been selected for them, Keith had dinner with the Paladins and Coran.

The kitchen was a mess, because it was practically the only place they could cram into where it would be just _them_. Hunk had started shooing Keith’s people away when he realized they were leaving feathers in unsanitary places. He’d been cooking “almost-Earth” food as he called it, for Keith to try, though he didn’t know the difference between it and the original. 

Lance sat on one of the counters, letting Pidge tinker with the metal exoskeleton she’d clamped around his hand, in between bites of food. Keith leaned back against Lance, as Hunk went on about _sugar_ and _icing_ and needing to get back to a space mall to find new supplies. Allura was trying to help Shiro clean something blue from the cervices of his prosthetic, because whatever that experiment of Hunk’s had been it’d exploded as soon as Shiro had poked it. Coran was trying to figure out the best space beast to compare the experience to.

It all felt so . . . nice.

Keith didn’t even flinch when Pidge turned her tools on his wing instead, to the fine web of metal she’d fitted over the injured portion. The growl that emerged when Shiro managed to work free a bit of the blue _whatever it had been meant to be_ and flicked it at Keith’s face was only good-natured. When Lance’s hand pulled against Keith’s shoulder, tugging him closer to him, Keith allowed it to happen.

The humans and Alteans had given him so much; Keith wasn’t sure he’d done enough in return. He tried not to think about is he’d still feel this good, this _happy_ , in the morning.

\- - -

When Lance woke, the nest was empty. He tried not to think about it too much, and how every morning would soon be like this one, except Lance would no longer have a reason not to sleep in his own bed.

The next few hours were a haze of commotion as he helped Pidge and Hunk load supplies into their Lions before they shuttled everything down to the planet’s surface. The Olkari were happy to have Keith’s people, for as long as they might want to stay with them. Their forests needed looking after, and the atmosphere seemed compatible for the aliens. The Blades who’d gone down with Shiro and Allura to meet the Olkari seemed tentatively to agree to the arrangement.

It would be a long while before Keith’s people would trust anyone else, but they trusted Voltron.

The civilians went first. They piled into the Green and Yellow Lions—the ones they felt most comfortable in, the ones that had saved them—after saying their goodbyes. Children begged for Pidge to visit because they would miss her and her robots; adults conferred with Hunk about the new planet’s resources and how they would be able to create sustainable food sources for themselves.

Lance tried to concentrate, when some came over to thank him for what he’d done, casting not-so-subtle looks at the metal soldered over his hand. The exoskeleton worked well, and Pidge kept insisting there was room for improvement as she was learning more about space tech. His hand responded a little slower and he still dropped things, a lot, but he was getting better with it. Keith kept offering to throw things at Lance to see if he’d be able to catch them before they could hit him in the face. Keith—

Keith wasn’t there.

It made it hard for Lance to think, because this wasn’t how he’d imagined saying goodbye. Not in a rush, surrounded by the Paladins and Coran and the Blades. Not with words that would feel too false for that _feeling_ constricting around Lance’s heart, smothering him.

The civilians left. Lance didn’t watch the viewscreens as the Lions descended to Olkarion, and the Blades gathered what supplies had been left behind, so they would need nothing from the Castle-ship for a long, long time.

Krolia was there. She’d been missing, too, probably off with Keith elsewhere. When she strode into the room, dressed in black like the other Blades, her stance was off. Wings tucked tightly against her back, shoulders hunched as if something was _wrong_. One of the Blades came too close to her as they were dragging boxes around and she snapped at him, fangs flashing before she composed herself.

Then he saw Keith, and his circling thoughts fell quiet for a moment. Everything was still, like Lance had pulled in a breath, and his lungs had stopped working, so he was going to choke.

Keith was wearing red and white.

\- - -

_“I’m proud of you.”_

_Keith turned when Krolia walked into the room, catching him staring down at the helmet in his hands. Red and white. His, but not. Borrowed, but earned. His nails scraped against the rough, alien metal._

_“I’ll miss you,” Krolia said, and he saw the careful way she held her wings. It was the same way Keith’s were tucked against his back, one slightly lopsided. “You’ve already done so much for our people, Keith, and now you’re going to do more for the universe. But you know that we would have you, if you wanted to go with us. You don’t have to stay.”_

_“I think I do,” Keith said, setting the helmet aside with a small_ clunk _. It was the only thing in his room besides the empty nest. “If I have the chance to do something, to help, I don’t think I would be able to bear it if I did_ nothing _instead.”_

_“I know. You’re too much like me,” Krolia said, tugging on a crooked feather on one of his wings. “The Blades will be contacting you as soon as we’re settled on Olkarion. I don’t know how long that will take, but I know we’ll get restless, if it truly is safe there. We owe it to Voltron to join in their fight.”_

_Keith’s lips pressed together, twisting to the side, and then he hugged Krolia tightly, because he didn’t know when he would see her again. It wasn’t the same kind of goodbye his heart felt before going on a mission, because he thought, for once, that she might be alright while she was away. It wouldn’t be so bad._

_“I’m going to miss you, Mom,” Keith said. “I love you.”_

\- - -

“What are you doing?” Lance demanded.

No one else seemed to think anything strange was happening, when Keith arrived in Paladin armor and not in black like the Blades. Someone had clearly modified the armor so there was space in the back for Keith’s wings, which were coated in a thin web of wires and sensors that had Pidge and Coran’s handiwork written all over them.

Metaphorically. Lance was thankful Pidge hadn’t started signing her work yet.

Keith blinked at him.

“Everyone else is wearing their armor,” Keith pointed out. He was, technically, correct, except Lance was the only one not wearing any gloves. Squinting at Keith, he tried not to think about how good he looked, all grumpy and dressed like a Paladin because _now was not the time_. “Allura said it might be a good idea.”

“Oh.” He glanced over toward Allura, who was helping one of the Blades load something particularly heavy. “She did?”

“You don’t like it,” Keith frowned, and Lance knew he was going about this all wrong because Keith was _leaving_ and their last few minutes together would involve him saying something idiotic.

“No! No. You look great.” It was an understatement. “I just thought you would want to, you know. Match everyone else.”

Now _Keith_ was squinting at him like there was something wrong with Lance.

“I do match everyone,” Keith said, flicking a finger toward Lance. “We can’t wear the same color. I have to wear red.”

They stared at one another, and Lance felt like his eye was twitching, and it looked a little bit like Keith was going to start shouting.

“If you’re going down to Olkarion—” Lance started, but Keith interrupted.

“Did you think I was leaving?”

Lance didn’t really know what to say to that because, obviously, Keith was leaving.

Except.

It wasn’t so obvious, now that he had arrived in Paladin armor and wasn’t over with the other Blades. It made Lance’s head hurt, and his hand ached.

“Red told me to stay,” Keith said, tilting his head to the side. There was amusement lurking in his eyes now, not just frustration, and it made Lance want to hit him, and kiss him. “But Red didn’t even need to try to convince me. I already knew that I wanted to stay behind to help you. I guess partly I want to stay behind _because_ of you, because I didn’t want to leave you, but also it seems like it’s going to be a lot of work—”

Keith _finally_ stopped talking, even though it was probably more words strung together than Lance had ever heard him speak at once, when Lance kissed him. Their lips touched and it felt like relief and hunger and happiness, and when Lance settled his hand on Keith’s hip, his fingers slid over Paladin armor that was frustratingly . . . restrictive.

“I thought you would know,” Keith said, touching his forehead against Lance’s. “If I needed to leave you, I wouldn’t have been away all day.”

“I just—” Lance faltered, and he steadied when Keith tapped his fingers against his chin. “I didn’t want to—and I—”

Usually, he felt like he was good with words, but something about Keith rattled everything inside of him.

“Oh, just make me stop talking,” Lance grumbled, and Keith smiled, before he kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you all predict that Keith would decide to stay with the Paladins? My baby's all grown up and off to save the universe :*). I had too much fun with all the miscommunication going on here with Lance HELLO GO TALK TO YOUR BOYFRIEND and we're beginning to see him and Keith come back to their new normal :D
> 
> Next week is an epilogue that will probably mostly be gratuitous fluff of life in the aftermath of this fic. The happy ending stays, because they've all more than earned it! Let me know what you think of the ending, and THANK YOU a million times over for sticking with me through my first fic on here! I live on your comments and you all have been too kind to me!! See you next Friday!
> 
> as always you can find me over on [twitter](http://twitter.com/kaylawhitwrites) or [tumblr](http://imreadingabook.tumblr.com) if you want to say hello!


	25. Baggage Claim

Keith lay awake, staring up into the darkness.

On some planet he couldn’t remember the name of, Lance had found some luminescent paint. There were little lopsided stars glowing across the ceiling, not quite yellow, almost green—Lance had done his best. Sometimes it helped them both to have those little patches of light in the darkness and it meant that Keith could stay there, wrapped up in his nest, without needing to pace the halls to the observation deck.

Some nights were still bad, and sometimes Keith still needed to leave, but he’d met Shiro in the quiet early morning hours less and less over the past year.

This time he hadn’t woken from any nightmare, or circling thoughts that wouldn’t let his mind go still. Another cramp rolled through his wing, and when Keith flinched, he heard Lance stir.

“What is it?” Lance mumbled before he’d even opened his eyes. Keith liked that Lance wasn’t a morning person and preferred to indulge himself in sleep, as he insisted it was necessary for him to maintain his beauty. But as much as Lance squinted and shuffled around whenever he woke without any alarm going off that would snap him to attention, he was a fairly light sleeper.

“Nothing,” Keith said, wriggling beneath the blankets he’d piled over both of them until he could nudge his nose against Lance’s neck and breathe in his scent. Exhaustion and happiness and—a little amusement. Oh. Keith hated it when Lance knew he was lying, and let out an unhappy sigh.

Most of their nest hadn’t originated on the Castle-ship. Whereas Lance still liked to pick up little trinkets, crafts and shiny rocks, beautiful things he’d never find elsewhere, Keith had no need for any of that. He made Lance keep it all in his room, which they hardly used anymore and Lance kept referring to as his walk-in closet.

Keith would look for the blankets, and pillows, and other soft things that he wanted in his nest to keep his mate warm. There were silver items meant for deep space travel and rainbow-coated ones meant for decoration. Traditional fabrics and high tech ones—Keith wasn’t very picky, as long as they were comfortable. Lance teased that Keith was spoiled, every time Keith was sprawled lazily in his nest, wings splayed. But what Keith liked best was tucking Lance into the blankets he’d chosen—trapping him in the nest so that he could pull Lance close and refuse to let him go. “ _Mine,_ ,” Keith would say, and kiss Lance beneath his ear in the way he knew would make the human laugh, tickling him with his fangs.

“It’s your wing again, isn’t it?” Lance asked, sounding more awake, which was distinctly not what Keith had been hoping for. He burrowed down a little farther in the nest. “Keith.”

“Stop it,” Keith complained when Lance poked him, hard metal jabbing his side. _Ouch_. There were only a few times per day when Lance didn’t wear the exoskeleton Pidge had made for him, the tech gripping tight to his injured hand. At first, he’d taken it off every night, working with Coran to try to improve what movement he still had left, even if Pidge’s tech worked great. But there were too many times when in the middle of the night, Voltron needed to be called into action, and they couldn’t waste time fumbling around trying to get Lance’s hand working again. Pidge had given him something semi-permanent instead, metal a constant presence against his skin.

“Roll over and I’ll stop, bird boy,” Lance said, pushing at Keith’s shoulder. Lance was kind, but infinitely impatient, seemingly multiplied by however long his sleep was interrupted. Already his eyes were half-closed, but he was still feeling for Keith’s wing.

Grumbling, teeth gnashing, Keith shifted away from Lance. It wasn’t like this was an unusual thing for them to do. There’d been no healing pod for Keith when he’d been injured and though he was _absolutely fine_ now, some of the muscles in his bad wing had healed . . . oddly. Sometimes it shook if he’d overexerted himself on a mission. Sometimes, at night, it cramped, because Keith really shouldn’t have been able to use it. He couldn’t have, without Pidge. Unlike Lance, Keith really only had the use of his wings when he had on the Paladin armor. The thin layer of wires and sensors Pidge had created not only shielded his wings from any attack or the void of space, they helped to compensate for the lost motion. 

It had felt so good to fly again.

“There you go. Just give me a minute,” Lance said, sleepily patting Keith’s shoulder when his wing was finally wedged in between the two of them. Feeling for the sore spot on Keith’s wing—hardly noticeable, except if you knew where to look for the line where no feathers would grow in correctly—Lance massaged his wing. The extra weight of his exoskeleton helped; Lance kept joking that Pidge had given him super strength, which wasn’t exactly incorrect as his hits now packed an extra punch.

There was an odd, contented sound in the back of Keith’s throat, when Lance placed pressure on his wing at exactly the right spot, making his toes curl into the nest. This had been happening a lot lately, new things Keith hadn’t known about himself, before he was . . . happy. Yes, half of the universe seemed to be determined to destroy Voltron and yes, there was still so much more work to be done but it was okay, because he had his friends, and Lance, and they had him.

\- - -

Keith usually didn’t say much, whenever they landed on a new planet. Lance always watched him, because it was easy to tell what his boyfriend (mate, _whatever_ , _Keith_ ) was thinking. Trying to see what the Paladins might miss. What the residents might be lying about. Sometimes, he disappeared for a few hours, and it was only later, on the Castle-ship, that Keith would admit where he was going.

“It doesn’t help to only talk to those who have the most power,” Keith said, feathers ruffled. They all knew Allura was the real diplomat, the reason their alliance kept growing—and that they’d all learned from their mistakes, after what had happened with the Vidorians. If Keith hadn’t snuck onto the Castle-ship, Voltron would never have known there was an entire population down on the planet slowly being eradicated.

“I need to talk to the civilians. To see what it’s really like,” Keith said. “To make sure it’s safe.”

To make sure nothing happened again, like what had happened to his home.

Even when all of the Paladins stood together, Keith didn’t quite match, because of the wings spread behind him. Together, but different, and their differences certainly made them stronger.

“Why should we trust you to protect us?” one of the leaders of the newest potential planet in the Voltron coalition asked, folding three sets of arms across his chest. He seemed tired, because his people had been fighting the Galra for so long, and something in the hard glint in his eyes reminded Lance of when Keith had first met them, too.

“Because it is our goal to see that the Galra lose their foothold in the universe,” Allura said. “We’re here to stop the Empire from spreading, from hurting innocent people. Wherever the Galra cause trouble, we will be there to stop it.”

“And you would do it freely?” the alien scoffed. “What is the cost to us?”

Keith’s feathers were bristling, which Lance never took as a good sign. They poked up from the thin net of wires strung over his wings by Pidge, grey and black and red angrier than Keith’s carefully controlled expression.

“Voltron doesn’t ask for anything in return except for you to help yourselves,” Keith said, shrugging off the looks the other Paladins gave him like _oh no you never speak during diplomatic conversations why are you deciding to insert yourself now_. “You can’t rely on us to do everything for you. You’ll need your own defense system. You’ll need people who are willing to fight so that you can remain free. That’s what these people—that’s what _we_ want. We want to see you all safe. The cost would be your time. Whatever resources are needed to update your defenses. The cost might be your people, if the Galra come for you again. But next time, you wouldn’t need to face them alone.”

“You seem very confident,” the alien said dubiously.

“Because they did the same for me. I wouldn’t be alive if Voltron hadn’t come to help my people. There would be none of us left to tell our story,” Keith said, gesturing loosely toward the other Paladins. He wasn’t even showing his fangs; Lance felt oddly proud of him. “And it wasn’t even their fight. The ones hurting us weren’t allied with the Galra. Voltron saw that what was happening was _wrong_ , so they did what they could to fix it. They helped. And they asked for nothing in return but for my people to continue their way of life, in peace.”

The aliens eyed one another, until the leader’s tightly crossed arms began to loosen. His orange-tinted gaze slid back to Allura. “We would be willing to discuss the terms of an alliance,” he said, gesturing with three hands toward a nearby doorway. “Let us sit and be comfortable as we talk.”

Allura followed him inside, speaking animatedly about what Voltron could do for the planet. Lance slid over and tugged at one of Keith’s feathers.

“Stop,” Keith grumbled, shifting a wing enough to almost knock Lance off his feet.

“You’re a good leader, Keith. You know how to take care of people,” Lance said, sneaking another poke at his feathers while Keith blinked at him owlishly. “You know that you can’t just solve every problem by stabbing at it with a knife.”

“I prefer to use the knife,” Keith said, seeming a little put-out at the reminder that he’d been told to leave most of his weapons in Red. The number of blades he’d pulled from his armor and tossed angrily to the ground had been breathtakingly impressive. “But I suppose words work sometimes, too. I don’t want to be any kind of leader.”

“Why? You’re really good with your mouth,” Lance said, smirking as Keith eyed him blankly.

“I know,” Keith said, and then huffed as Lance laughed, and—there it was. His fangs poked free again. “I don’t—Lance. What’s so funny about that? _Lance_ , stop laughing at me.”

\- - -

When Pidge brought Lance into the training room, Keith was lurking in the rafters.

“What’s this all about, Pidge?” Lance asked, gesturing with his bayard. “You’re acting weirder than usual.”

“Me?” Pidge blinked innocently. “Is it so much to ask my friend to show me a few pointers so I can improve my aim? I’m trying to improve myself, Lance.”

“I wouldn’t know what that feels like,” Lance said, and Keith shuffled a little further into the shadows when Lance strode into the middle of the room. “I’ve never had any need for improvement.”

“I don’t understand how your gigantic ego doesn’t throw you off-balance while you’re fighting,” Pidge said, tapping her bayard against the metal wall.

Oh. _Oh._ The signal!

Keith sprang from the rafters, wings flaring with a little robotic _hiss_ as Pidge’s tech compensated for the weakness in his right wing. He shrieked, like he’d been hunting and had just found his prey, and Lance’s scream of utter terror spiced with the scent of his surprise was _delicious_. His legs caught around Lance’s chest and they both toppled to the ground—harder than Keith had anticipated, because he was getting too strong again, but Lance was wearing his Paladin armor so he was certain he hadn’t broken his human.

Pinning Lance like he would at the end of a hunt, Keith leaned back to give Pidge a high-five. She had taken great pleasure in teaching him that human ritual.

“What—what is happening?” Lance spluttered, sprawled limply across the ground. Keith, rumbling happily to himself, kissed him until Pidge started making noises like she was going to throw up.

“Pidge made some new modifications to my wing,” Keith said, shaking them out and proudly displaying the metal entangled in the feathers. “I can make sharper turns, now. We wanted me to have a chance to practice with the modifications.”

“You wanted to practice on _me_? You could have asked me!” Lance said, squirming until Keith finally rolled off of him.

“But that wouldn’t have been any fun, Lance,” Pidge snorted. “Hey, I’ve been working hard around here. I deserve what little joy I can get from convincing my friends to scare each other.”

“Pidge said that it was an ‘Earth thing’,” Keith said, complete with air quotes, which he’d learned from Hunk. They were going to make a human of him by the end of all of this. “Jump scare!”

“Stop learning Earth culture from Pidge. She’s a terrible influence, and I don’t really think you’re using that term correctly,” Lance said, but he didn’t sound angry. Maybe because he usually convinced Keith to go along with his schemes, too. Shiro hadn’t been surprised by them in a while; maybe now Keith’s wings would be strong enough to handle a sharp drop like that.

“Pidge is a good influence. She’s the smartest one here,” Keith said, figuring she deserved to be complimented after all the work she’d put into his wings. “Thank you, Pidge. I am going to practice more,” Keith said, grinning at her until his fangs poked out before lunging for Lance. That elicited another delightful shriek.

Wrapping his arms tight around Lance’s waist, Keith’s wings strained, muscle and metal working together to pull both of them into the air. Higher and higher, until the floor of the training room was far below them, and Keith could see Pidge waving up at them before she left. Probably because she did not want Keith to turn his pouncing on her.

“Keith—Keith, we’re really high up here,” Lance said, hands scrabbling against Keith’s neck before Lance’s arms locked tight around it. Just lose enough to guarantee the human wouldn’t strangle him.

“I can’t practice flying on the ground,” Keith scoffed, touching his forehead against Lance’s. The human’s skin was so soft, and his expression caught somewhere between elation and unease. It was unfortunate that humans were born wingless, but also wonderful because it gave them a reason to be together. Keith wouldn’t have been able to hold Lance so close if he’d had a set of wings. “I need to practice flying, with you.”

“Oh, well, if that’s all it is,” Lance said, voice dripping with sarcasm as his eyebrows twitched.

“Shiro thinks that it would be useful if our sharpshooter was always able to get to the higher ground. Sometimes I could be the higher ground,” Keith said with a self-satisfied smirk.

“You’ve been talking to Shiro about this?” Lance asked.

“Well, yes. He asked to speak to me after he overhead me talking to Hunk about cultural differences and _dating_ , and how if you had a set of wings, as my mate we would fly to the highest peaks so we could solidify our bond together,” Keith said.

“So we could—you were talking to Hunk and Shiro about that?” Lance asked, and Keith wondered why Lance’s voice had pitched so high that it looked like he was a little uncomfortable. There was no need for that; Keith had already been uncomfortable enough when Shiro had stutteringly tried to give him a lecture on being _careful_.

“Of course,” Keith said. “I wanted to know if there was a similar place we might go to where we could honestly say how we feel about each other. A bonding moment.”

“Oh.”

“Did you think I meant something else?” Keith asked, head tilting to the side. Lance looked a little flushed, and not just from the height.

“No! Nope. I had the same in mind. Same for me,” Lance said, pasting on a grin when Keith continued to scrutinize him.

“Fine. If you aren’t going to tell me, then we might as well waste no time, and practice,” Keith said, tucking his wings close to his back.

He liked the way Lance clung to him as they fell, and how the human screamed his name with exasperation, and affection.

\- - -

Once, Lance tried blindfolding Keith to bring him to a surprise, and it hadn’t gone over well. The material had ended up completely shredded before Keith shut himself in his room for hours, trying not to think about how it felt to lose control. To not be able to move, or speak—to know that he was going to be stuck, until he died. Sometimes it hurt knowing that he should have been dead, because he never would have escaped the enemy laboratory on his own. Better Blades than him had disappeared into its depths. Some days were still bad days, though those were getting farther apart. There were so many ways to distract himself, if that was what he needed—so many people who would pull him away from the thoughts that kept circling and circling, drawing tighter and tighter around his neck until he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Hunk would always listen, even if Keith didn’t have any words to use.

Shiro would pace the Castle-ship hallways with him.

Allura would talk strategy, and planets, and casually pull up information on Olkarion to update him on his peoples’ assimilation.

Pidge would update his wings and assure him he was strong enough to fly.

Coran would patch Keith together again after he spent too many hours in the training room, running simulations over and over and over again.

And Lance . . .

Lance would hold him tight and trap him in their nest. Lance would make sure that he ate on the bad days, that he kept his wings clean. He’d help him preen when it felt like too much to touch his own feathers. He’d help when he startled awake in the middle of the night, too tired and suffocated to go racing off to try to find Shiro.

Lance was there for the good things, too.

Introducing Keith to the Earth concept of _movie nights_. Tugging out Keith’s translator and teaching him words in his native language. Bringing him back a white and red jacket from the space mall, that had _reminded him of Keith_ , and then helping him cut out space for his wings so that he could wear it.

They kept each other safe, as the universe rattled toward the end of this war and the Galra became increasingly more dangerous. They fought, after one of them or the other took too many risks, or ended up injured. They fought over stupid things like training scores and who would get to eat the last of Hunk’s treats. Yes, they fought, but it didn’t matter, because they were mates. 

It meant even at their worst moments, when their blood ran hot and their voices strained with the forces of their shouting, they still cared. It didn’t _matter_ , because they would get through anything. Together.

So, on a different day, when the Paladins were meant to rest because they could be called into action at any moment, Keith tackled Lance to the ground and blindfolded him.

“I really didn’t think this is what you’d be into,” Lance said, shooting a slightly crooked grin _almost_ Keith’s way, before the alien helped him to his feet.

“I thought that you said you liked surprises,” Keith said, hooking his arm around Lance’s waist and leading him down the corridor. “So, I made a surprise for you.”

Allura had helped him. Well, _everyone_ had, and they’d kept laughing whenever they teased Keith about being romantic and he’d gnash his teeth at them while he could feel his face flushing. He was supposed to be _intimidating_.

Strapping Lance into one of the spare seats in Red was another step that pulled a few increasingly explicit comments from the Paladin. Then they were off, down toward the planet Allura had taken them to—in a nice, quiet, abandoned system the Galra needed nothing from, where no one would think to look for them.

Best of all, the atmosphere on the planet below was compatible both for Keith and humans, so no helmets were required. Keith had still taken quite a few weapons, because he was no idiot.

He guided Lance out of the shuttle, into the bright, sticky sunlight. The ground crunched beneath their boots, shifting and uneven. There was an ever-changing roar in the distance, which made Lance tilt his head to the side. His brown hair was mashed slightly by the blindfold, lips tucked into a little frown as he listened.

“Is that—”

Keith shifted, tugging off Lance’s blindfold, watching at the human’s expression smoothed and his eyes widened, all at once.

“Hunk said that it was close enough,” Keith said. “Allura said that it was safe. I know it isn’t the same, but—”

“ _Keith_ ,” Lance whined to get him to stop talking, and they looked out at the ocean together. Hunk had said it was smaller than what they had on Earth, but still did the same trick of stretching all the way to the horizon, and was tinged red instead of blue, which Keith found an improvement anyway as red was the superior color.

There was longing in Lance’s eyes, fondness and sadness all rolled into one, and Keith knew he was thinking about all he was missing. How much work there was for them to do, before the Paladins would be able to go home.

“You totally love me,” Lance smirked, tucking his arms around Keith’s neck. There was pale pink sand beneath their feet, probably the same shade as Keith’s face as Lance kissed him.

“I love you,” Keith agreed, because to say anything otherwise would have only been a lie.

They sat together in the sand, heads tipped toward one another, Keith’s wing swept around them. It smelled like salt and content and happiness. Keith dipped his head a little closer, breathing in Lance’s scent. Yes, there was that odd smell that only belonged to his mate, mingled with ease and desire and the burning, quiet song of _love_ , except Keith would never say aloud what it smelled like because he knew the Paladins would never stop teasing him.

“I still want you to see the real thing, when all of this is over,” Lance said, clearing his throat. His eyes were on the water, on the horizon and the waves lapping gently at the pale pink shore. “If you want to. My family lives near the beach, and they . . . I think they would like you.”

“You’ve already met my family,” Keith pointed out. There was Krolia and all the Blades. Lance had literally saved his people, and Keith was trying to do the same for him. “It’s only fair that I get to meet yours.”

He dug his heels into the sand, watching the tiny grains skitter away from him.

“Do you think they’ll like my wings?”

Lance laughed, then tried to muffle his amusement when Keith glared at him. “That’s what you’re worried about? My younger siblings will beg you to fly them everywhere. But my parents will probably ask you not to do that. We’re all loud. You’d need to put up with that.”

“You’re loud. I put up with you,” Keith reminded Lance, tugging at his hair. “I’d go anywhere in the universe you want to. I want you to be able to go home. I want to see Earth with you.”

When Lance smiled, it was warmer than the sun peering down over them. It didn’t matter if Earth had oceans or the food Hunk was always trying to imitate. Earth would have _Lance_. Earth would be a good place to rest for a while, when the war was over.

“I love you,” Lance said, leaning forward and pausing before his lips pressed against Keith’s. His hand tangled in Keith’s hair, getting longer now and mingling with the feathers growing at the back of his neck. “Even if you have a mullet.”

Keith growled, and Lance laughed, and they fell down together into the sand, two Paladins taking what time they had to be happy together, safe for a moment while they were defending the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then Pidge yelled at them both for getting sand stuck in the joints of the tech she made them, and they lived happily ever after.
> 
> I can't believe it's over! You guys have made my first fic experience on this site completely amazing. I honestly can't thank you all enough for the comments and kudos--you're all so genuinely lovely and supportive, it means so much more to me than I can ever express. I hope you like this unnecessary, fluffy epilogue, because the boys really do deserve a happy ending together and I tried to keep the lasting effects of what I put them through to a minimum, here. They've been hurt, but they're going to be okay. ^.^
> 
> As always I would greatly appreciate a comment to let me know what you think. Did you like the ending? I love hearing your thoughts!
> 
> I do have an idea for another fic (not set in this AU, but also centered on Keith) that will probably start up in December. I'm very excited about it, and I'm not sure why I'm so mean to Keith.
> 
> Again, THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH. I can't believe this is finished. It really wouldn't have come together without all of you reading, so here's one more thank you. 
> 
> I'd love to connect on twitter [twitter](http://twitter.com/kaylawhitwrites) or [tumblr](http://imreadingabook.tumblr.com) (I'll be ranting about NaNoWriMo a lot in the weeks I won't be on here). I love ya'll!


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